


can i be close to you

by radian (arcsec)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Kozume Kenma, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Hinata Shouyou & Kozume Kenma Friendship, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, kuroo and kenma are not childhood friends, stealth gastby au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcsec/pseuds/radian
Summary: 5 times kenma slept in kuroo's bed + 1 time kuroo slept over in kenma's
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 341
Kudos: 999
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics, Recommended KuroKen Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for sunny ☀️ dedicated to everyone touch starved in quarantine.

kenma makes it halfway through his second year before shouyou manages to drag him to one of kuroo’s parties. 

shouyou has been trying to get him to come along since he met kenma the second week of school, so kenma personally thinks this is an impressive showing. _you_ try telling shouyou no—he’s a whirlwind of a boy.

kenma’s still not sure how shouyou managed to find his way to a third year's party in the very first week of his first year, but he's learned shouyou is the type to show up places uninvited and get away with it. there’s something incredibly compelling about him underneath his shocking enthusiasm and shockingly orange hair. 

shouyou’s friendship with kenma is a prime example of this.  kenma is completely happy being minimally socialized, he tells himself. his goal in life is to be as unnoticeable as possible and game and maybe figure out how to get a good night’s sleep. 

and yet—shouyou managed to befriend him the day they met. kenma isn’t sure how that happened, but he’s not complaining. 

_shouyou_ , he thinks, _would make a good shounen protagonist_. _he’s even got the hair for it._

still, friends or no, kenma’s not interested in going the the party. he _still_ isn’t. just because he told shouyou he’ll go doesn’t mean he wants to go. what he _wants_ is the game shouyou promised to buy for him if he comes along and stays for bit.

“kenmaaaaaaaaaaa,” shouyou whines, wriggling across his bed to get closer to where kenma is sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I know you’re tired but just stay for half an hour. you can walk home whenever you want after that!” 

he pokes the side kenma’s head to make sure he has his attention.

kenma glares at him, but there’s no heat; the effect is lost because his eyes are half closed already. he can barely keep them open. last night he pulled an all nighter because the final fantasy vii remake _finally_ dropped—he played from the moment he got it till he had to leave for school in the morning. 

it’s true, his house is a kilometer away from the party, and there is a well lit jogging path that runs by them both. not that kenma would ever take the initiative to jog there, but when pokémon go came out he’d stay out past sunset catching ghosts types under the soft streetlights.

so he lets himself be dragged along. _just for a bit_. he tells himself. _i’m doing it for the free game. i can leave whenever i want if i don’t like it._

he _knows_ he’s not going to like it. but again—shouyou. hard to say no to, doesn’t know when to quit. 

kenma leaves his school stuff at shouyou’s to pick up later, and shouyou tells his mom they’re heading to kenma’s for the rest of the night. His parents, like kenma’s, are rather lax about keeping tabs on them. their town is so safe kenma’s family doesn’t lock the door half the time when they’re out, and it’s common to let teens wander as they please, even more so on non-school nights.

but that doesn’t mean they’d be happy to hear that their son was going to a house party. 

he grabs his helmet, which isn’t actually his—it’s a spare that he uses whenever he comes over—and they’re off. kenma notes with amusement that the painfully orange reflective vest shouyou wears for night riding clashes with his hair. 

shouyou bikes them both over, kenma sitting side saddle on the rear rack, one arm clutching shouyou’s waist. he wishes shouyou had rear pegs. they’ve tried a few configurations and while this is the most stable, it’s nerve wracking for kenma, who has to balance himself just so, holding his feet out so they don’t get tangled in the spokes. 

this also takes an annoying amount of core strength for a configuration that was billed to kenma as one where shouyou would do all of the work. the downhill from shouyou’s house to kuroo’s makes for a relatively short ride, though, and kenma’s tight grip on shouyou eases when they reach the bottom of the incline. 

kenma hears strains of music before he can see the house. only the baseline filters through intact, rendering the song unidentifiable. he probably wouldn’t recognize it anyway, if he’s being honest, since he mainly listens to whatever music is in the background of game he’s playing. 

that isn’t to say he’s completely musically indifferent—some of the soundtracks he genuinely likes. if they’re good enough, they can temporarily settle the anxious thoughts that have a tendency to swarm like bees in the back of his brain, giving him some much-welcomed peace of mind. 

when they finally reach the end of the long, stone-paved driveway, kenma slides off the back of the bike and shouyou wheels it off by the side of the garage where a few other bikes are already haphazardly propped. the party seems to be in full swing. 

the now-audible sound of people talking and laughing drifting inside sends frissons of anxiety through kenma. he glances over at shouyou, only to see him powering up, small body almost vibrating in anticipation. kenma doesn’t know how he has so much energy _all the time._

“uwa!! let’s go!!” he cheers, grabbing kenma by the elbow and bounding up the stairs to the front doors. he jabs the doorbell half a dozen times. kenma can _hear_ the exclamation marks. 

a lanky teen kenma thinks he might recognize from one of his classes pulls open the door, and a burst of humid, warm air from inside envelops them. kenma wrinkles his nose in distastes when he’s hit with the tangy smell of sweat and beer and noise of too many _people_ , all packed together in a too-small space, but shouyou plunges in without a shred of hesitation. 

he is still holding kenma firmly, as if he suspects kenma would try and run the minute he lets go. kenma _wouldn’t._ he said he would go and made it this far.

(he had only considered it for second)

the first thing kenma notices when his eyes adjust to the chaos inside is kuroo in the thick of things in the main room adjacent to the entrance, drink in hand, gesticulating as he talks to bokuto and a few other people. 

kenma _always_ notices kuroo. it’s hard not to when he takes up so much space. kenma doesn't mean physical space, though he is unusually tall, and his hair is unusually messy. it’s more the energy. just existing, he draws eyes to himself. his whole body is like, _notice me_. 

it’s the exact opposite of everything kenma would ever want. he turns away.

kenma follows shouyou closely as he moves through the crowd to get drinks from the kitchen on the other side of the main room. now, he is glad for shouyou’s grip. he can feel himself hunching his shoulders defensively against the onslaught of people, and his heart rate has been steadily increasing since he got off the bike. 

dropping down his shoulders and unclenching his jaw, kenma forces himself to relax. he regulates his breathing. 

in-two-three-four-five, hold-two three-four-five, out-two-three-four-five.

it maybe helps a little. his therapist would be proud. he grabs a cup because everyone seems to have one and takes stock of his drink options. there are a couple mixers, some handles of vodka, a mostly empty bottle of tequila, and a cooler full of beer. 

none of this appeals to him. he fills his cup up partway with tap water. it’s for appearances, anyway. 

shouyou has finished pouring himself some punch—not mixed, just the mixer—and moves to stand besides kenma. 

“so?? whaddya think?” he nudges kenma in the side.

kenma levels him with an unenthused look. 

“c’mon, let’s go back to the main room.” shouyou suggests, and pulls kenma along after him. he seems to find moving through the people no obstacle. 

“oH!!” shouyou squawks. he’s spotted tanaka and noya, some of the other second years he’s befriended. 

they’ve conned him into calling them senpai, which kenma finds ridiculous. he’s never put much stock in those sort of formalities, but even if he did, they’re not the sort of people he thinks should ever be encouraged like that. 

shouyou makes as if to go towards them, then pauses, looking back at kenma. 

“go say hi,” kenma tells him. “i’ll be fine.” 

he can tell shouyou is conflicted. and yeah, it _is_ bad practice to drag your friend to a party then ditch, but kenma isn’t mad at him. 

he’s happier finding a corner to sit in for the next 30 minutes anyway. he _will_ be timing them, and then he will be leaving. 

he’s sure this isn’t what shouyou had in mind when he set that minimum, but kenma doesn’t really care. he pulls out his phone and sets his timer—yes, he was serious about that—and hunkers down on a couch pushed against the wall at the edge of the room. 

there is a couple he doesn’t recognize making out on the other end of it. he slides away from them, tucking himself as close in to the armrest as he can get, and brings his legs up to his chest.

despite the bumping music and multi-colored lights spinning patterns on the walls, now that he is sitting still in a mostly-dark room, he can feel a magnetic pull towards unconsciousness. he sets his cup down on the table beside him. in this state, he doesn’t trust himself not to spill it.

every time kenma closes his eyes, they roll back in his head. and every time, it’s a struggle to pry them back open. his head feels impossibly heavy. he catches himself listing forward and shakes himself awake. 

another blink, and he finds himself snapping awake again.

and again.

the next thing he knows, he’s being jolted awake by the rhythmic vibrations of his phone timer going off. 

kenma must have actually fallen asleep at some point while he was crossing in and out of the hazy border between sleep deprivation and actual sleep. it’s so liminal he didn't notice passing out into true unconsciousness until he was woken up. 

he is _so tired._ his mind feels gummed up, thoughts sticky-slow. which is nice, actually, because he doesn’t have the capacity to be anxious anymore. 

but he feels a little sick from the sleeplessness. and there is no way kenma can walk back like this, not for a kilometer. he’d lay down on the path before he made it halfway. he’s going to have to nap before he does anything that requires movement or brain processing. 

though kenma may be literally about to pass out, he refuses to do it on a couch in a room full of people. that sounds absolutely _awful._

he pushes himself off the couch, hand on the armrest for stabilization, and blinks rapidly to clear his vision as he looks around for shouyou. kenma spots him still over with noya and tanaka…who is now shirtless? and whipping his shirt around above his head? 

kenma blinks again. okay. he’s not going to interrupt that.

he takes his phone out of his hoodie pocket to text shouyou he’s going now. 

> to: shouyou

leaving

sent 10:11 pm

kenma finds his way out of the main room of the party and slowly climbs the wide staircase that spirals up to the second floor, clutching the banister to keep himself upright. it’s incredibly tempting to let his knees buckle and drop right there, but he’s determined to see if he can find a quieter room to nap in for the next few hours.

he trails down the hall, checking doors to see if they open, only to find all of the doors he tries are locked, with the exception of a linen closet. all the sheets and towels are various neutral shades, crisply and neatly folded. the uniformity is almost hypnotic, but it’s not what he’s looking for. 

kenma supposes kuroo’s been throwing parties long enough that he discovered the hard way people will inevitably find their way into any unlocked room. 

the locked doors may throw a wrench in kenma’s plan, but they also make him feel better about what he’s about to do. he figures if he _does_ find an open door, it should be alright for him to go in. 

_ugh_. he is seriously contemplating keeling over and sleeping on the hall carpeting. kenma would lie down on _gravel_ at this point, and the cream carpet is plush and soft under his feet. the hall lights are on, but he can work with that, kenma thinks to himself. he can still hear the music from downstairs, but it’s muffled, and most importantly—there are no other people. what an immense relief.

kenma halfheartedly tries to twist the knob on the door at the end of the hall, and to his surprise, it turns under his hand. 

he pushes the door open, poking his head into the room. the lights are off, but light from the hall spills in to illuminate a bed at the center of the wall opposite the door, neatly made.

thank _god_.

he lets himself into the guest bedroom and steps out of his shoes, discarding them in a pile by the door, which he leaves ajar so he has enough light to find his way over to the bed. 

kenma stumbles over and curls up on top of the blankets. it’s such a relief to be laying down that he could cry. 

the mattress is so soft and gently cradles his tired body, and when he buries his face in the pillow it smells so _good_ —clean cotton with a hint of something deeper and a little spicy.

and somewhere between this breath and the next, kenma drifts off to sleep. 

——

kuroo turns off the music and sighs as he surveys this week’s damage in silence. 

the last group of people had finally trickled out a little after 2am, taking with them the comfort of their tipsy laughter. 

he’s been doing this on a near-weekly basis since the beginning of his second year, and it’s been sustainable so far: people generally don’t get too rowdy and the party usually dies down on its own by 3am, though he lets people stay as long as they want. 

after all, there’s always next week. 

if there’s any urgent mess he deals with that, then clears and wipes the surfaces, and then showers and sleeps. in the mornings he does another check of things, and the maids come on sunday catch anything he missed before his parents return home for their weekly dinner. 

kuroo grabs a hand towel to wipe up the spill on the floor, then rinses it off and hangs it over the faucet. he takes a quick lap through the rest of the downstairs, but he doesn’t encounter anything obviously broken. thank _fuck_. 

he does find a solo cup in the library, though, and cringes at the thought of someone getting their drink on the books again—that had been fucking terrible to explain—but nothing seems disturbed. 

kuroo ambles back to the main room. there are solo cups and cans on every flat surface, and more in the two trash cans he had set out. he throws the solo cups into the trash and the cans into a separate bag to recycle—yeah, he’s a great person, he knows—and leaves them by the foyer to take out in the morning.

the kitchen table is covered in a residue of all the drink options combined, as is the pong table. delightful. he wipes them down with the wet rag before they get sticky, or rather, stick _er_. 

_huh_. someone left a shirt in the corner. not the first time he’s found clothes left behind, but it’s not common, either. 

bo is snoring on the couch—kuroo’s going to leave him there. it’s not the first time he’s crashed. kuroo keeps telling him he should just take one of the guest bedrooms in the south wing, but bokuto never _plans_ to stay. sometimes he just falls asleep. 

kuroo picks up one of the throw pillows and wedges it under bo’s neck for a little more support. he’ll thank kuroo in the morning.

“sweet dreams, bro,” kuroo says fondly to bokuto’s sleeping form, and flips off the spinning light projector on the side table next to him. he moves over to the kitchen where the lights are turned on low, fills up a glass with water from the fridge, and drains it in one long gulp. 

kuroo’s not saying hydration is a hangover _cure_ , but it helps more than anything else he’s tried. 

tonight he didn’t drink that much, though. he’s been feeling—well. he’s been in a bit of a mood this week, which is coming back to him as he’s hit with a wave of post-party sadness. 

the drop from having so many people around to being alone has never been one he liked. it’s like, all of that was just a temporary relief from some deep more pervasive loneliness. when it’s empty, the whole house is steeped in it. 

he doesn’t really know if other people get like this. he figures they must. or maybe kuroo is just bad at being alone. he was awkward and lonely as a kid, but then puberty smacked him with its magic fairy wand and he shot up and filled out and all of a sudden, making friends was easy—they came to him, all the more eager when they found out about his house. 

so he throws parties and does his best to surround himself with people constantly. they’re like a—like a fucked up safety blanket. except he can’t keep them and he can’t make them stay.

he doesn’t know how to fix it. he doesn’t understand how people can be _content_ to be alone, how they can sit with themselves. it’s anathema to him. 

he glances over at where bokuto still sleeping. it’s always nice when he stays. there’s something comforting about knowing he’s there, even if kuroo sleeps upstairs. 

kuroo yawns, arching his back and extending his arms, hands clasped above him. he rolls his head and his neck cracks like a glow stick. _lovely_. 

he is _so_ ready to go to bed _._ sometimes he finds himself awake and lonely and on edge for hours after he hosts, but right now he’s tired enough he thinks he’ll be able to fall asleep immediately, which is a blessing. he sets his glass down in the sink and heads for the stairs. 

when kuroo opens his door and turns on the room lights, he is confronted with a body _._ on his _bed_. curled up right in the center. he freezes. 

when a pudding-colored head pops up, he chokes on thin air. he’d recognize that hair anywhere. kozume kenma. had been asleep. in his bed. like a fucking cat. on _his bed._

what the _fuck_.

kuroo keeps staring and pinches himself on the arm to check that this isn’t another dream. 

——

kenma is awoken by someone flipping on the lights. he whines and buries his face in the pillow. then realizes a beat later this is not his bed. disoriented in the strange space, thoughts muddled, he tries to place himself, squinting muzzily at the sudden brightness. 

he sits up slightly, looking for the source, and immediately regrets it. the events of four hours ago trickle back to him.

kuroo is gaping from the doorframe, dumbstruck at the sight of kenma nestled on his bed.

“w _hat_ —?” kuroo starts, voice sharp with confusion, but cuts himself off, shaking his head to clear it. he draws a hand down his face and heaves out a sigh, then speaks again. 

“my bad, i must’ve forgotten to lock this.”

“sorry.” kenma manages to make his mouth work, still cotton headed, squinting against the light. it feels insufficient. if he were a little more awake perhaps he’d feel the burn of mortification. but for now, he just wants the lights off. 

“no, s’fine. my fault. better than vomit.” kuroo waves a hand in dismissal. “here,” he turns out the lights, and kenma melts back into the bed with a small noise of relief. 

from the faint light coming through the cracked door he can just make out kuroo’s silhouette, picking his way towards the side of the room and entering…a closet? no, an attached bathroom kenma hadn’t noticed before. 

the a/c must have kicked in while kenma had been sleeping, thermostat confused by the heat of the bodies downstairs, because the room is now significantly colder than it had been when he entered it. he works the blanket out from under him with a few tugs and curls up beneath it. 

kenma hears rain. it takes him a second to place this as the shower turning on, and by the time this registers he’s already sinking back into unconsciousness. 

——

kuroo knows he should probably be more phased. it’s weird to find a person on your bed. and it’s not that he’s _not_ phased, but that’s more to do with the person than the circumstances. 

but at this point, given he apparently left his room unlocked, he’s just glad that no one threw up in it. 

at the beginning of the year, lev had come to the very first party as a _first_ year and found his way into kuroo’s room five vodka shots in, where he promptly threw up. kuroo had heard afterward from yaku that lev had said he thought he would have a natural resistance to vodka because he’s half russian. kuroo’s not sure how lev is still alive. 

and it’s not like people never crash after the parties. exhibit a: bokuto currently passed out on the couch downstairs. 

but. he’s _never_ seen kozume at one of his parties. and he’s looked before. 

kuroo showers on autopilot, mechanically washing the sweat and smell of the party off of his body. when he comes out, waist wrapped in a towel, kozume seems to have crawled under the covers and fallen asleep again. 

but it’s kuroo’s bed, and his bed is big and kozume is...not. oh god, he’s _so_ small. there’s space. and kuroo is exhausted. 

so kuroo changes into fresh boxers and one of his old t-shirts, and then he climbs under the covers as well, careful to leave a foot of space between their bodies. despite the unbelievable circumstances, or perhaps because of them—he already feels like he's dreaming—he drifts off to sleep the moment he’s settled. 

——

the first thing kenma registers when he wakes up is an unfamiliar weight on his stomach, right where the cat in his dream had fallen asleep on him. except he’s not dreaming anymore, and he doesn't have a cat.

and this certainly isn’t his room.

_fuck_. 

it seems kuroo had starfished across the bed in the night, and in the process thrown a hand over kenma’s torso. 

kenma allows himself to lay under it for a minute, incredibly aware of the warmth at the point of the contact. he’s always been weak to heat. the weight of it is foreign in a not-unwelcome way—it’s comforting. he blames himself, a little, for being so touch starved that this gets a reaction from him.

besides shouyou, people don’t really touch him. he doesn’t invite touch. and he doesn’t _want_ people to touch him, for the most part. ducking out from under people’s arms and arching away from hands is something he has down to an art form.

but this isn’t awful, if he lets himself think about it. which he won’t. but if he did, he would think that he doesn’t terribly mind kuroo sharing his space. 

kenma forcibly derails his train of thought. time to see if he can leave without letting anyone know he was ever here, and maybe kuroo will think he hallucinated the whole thing. 

a boy can dream. 

he rolls out from under kuroo’s hand and off the bed, doing his best not to make any noise or tug on the blankets. kuroo makes a displeased noise in his sleep and shifts a bit, sheets rustling as he moves closer to where kenma had been only a moment before. 

kenma pads over to his shoes, puts them on, and then carefully opens the door. when he closes it behind him, he does so with a controlled twist of the knob so the only sound is the slight snick of the latch as it catches. he climbs downstairs, grateful for the carpet absorbing the noise of his footsteps. 

it’s dim in the house, but not dark. he’s not sure what time it is. his phone is dead. 

when he gets to the base of the stairs, he catches a glimpse bokuto snoring on the couch in the main room in a wildly uncomfortable looking tangle of limbs. thank god he’s still asleep. kenma lets himself out the front door and heads home. 

the sun is just coming up, tinging the horizon a delicate shade of yellow, and the air is still chilly from the night. kenma walks in silence back to his house, shivering slightly. 

this whole thing is like a fever dream. he doesn’t have the capacity to process it. 

when he gets back to his house, his parents are still asleep. kenma lays on his bed and starts to play through a game he’s already beaten 5 times, because as much as he’s trying to focus, his mind keeps wandering. 

his phone finally has enough charge to restart. ten texts from shouyou come through from 1am. they’re primarily incoherent, filled with extraneous capitalization and enough exclamation points to raise eyebrows, but manage to convey his enthusiasm and pride that kenma stayed as long as he did. kenma smiles to himself. shouyou is _good_. 

kenma shoots him a text. 

> shouyou

bring over my bag later? 

6:30am

and goes back to his game. half an hour later he can smell breakfast wafting up from the kitchen, and when his mom calls for him, he heads downstairs to eat.

——

shouyou bikes over in the afternoon. he lets himself in and goes up to kenma’s room to find him laying on his bed, phone in hand. 

“kenma!!” shouyou drops kenma’s bag on the floor and scoots onto the bed with him. 

“shouyou.” kenma greets him, setting down his phone. 

“how was the party??” 

kenma thinks for a second. “…it was fine.”

shouyou’s face lights up. “really? not terrible?”

“not terrible,” kenma echoes. 

he doesn’t tell shouyou he stayed overnight in kuroo’s bed. it felt like the sort of thing you keep close to your chest, like talking about it would somehow make it fall apart. it’s just so. _intimate,_ and weird but not bad, in a way he doesn’t know how to explain to shouyou. 

he’s not even sure how to explain it himself.

shouyou grumps about his literature homework and how stupid some boy in his class is, and kenma listens to him for a handful of minutes before he elbows him to quiet down.

“read,” kenma tells him. “if you need help let me know.” 

shouyou settles to the extent he can, and they spend the afternoon together in relative peace and quiet. 

when shouyou gets fed up with his work, he hooks his chin over kenma’s shoulder and watches him game, asking questions about the quests and characters along the way. 

like this, the lingering unease kenma has about last night is smoothed away, and by the time shouyou leaves, kenma is feeling centered and calm once more. 

——

in the morning—okay, it’s technically past noon—when kuroo wakes up, kozume is gone. 

he is only 70% sure this wasn’t a dream or an alcohol induced hallucination. there’s no note, but the other pillow is dimpled slightly, as if from someone resting their head there. 

kuroo heaves himself up and wanders downstairs, past bokuto and into the kitchen, and turns on the kettle. from the cupboard above the kettle he removes a small coffeepot, setting the brewing cone on top of the pot and lining it with a filter. he portions out enough coffee grounds for a few cups from the half empty bag he stores in the freezer for better aroma retention. 

bo gave him shit for that the first time he saw it, but he will admit that kuroo’s coffee is pretty damn good. bokuto’s not picky, though—he’ll drink whatever coffee he can get his hands on. akaashi wishes he wouldn’t. 

“coffee?” kuroo calls out when he hears bo stirring in the main room. swirling the boiling water over the grounds, he inhales the aromatic steam appreciatively. 

“pleaaaaaase,” bokuto groans. “and turn off the light?”

“that’s the sun, sweetheart.” kuroo tells him, and bokuto emits another pained noise in response. he pours two cups and brings them with him into the main room. kuroo loves when bokuto sleeps over. he’s kuroo’s closest friend, his best bro, his numero uno. 

kuroo’s parents only invested in translucent white curtains, allegedly to ‘let in the natural light’, but really to invite voyeurs to look in on their impeccably decorated house.

kuroo hands bokuto a mug of coffee. “hey. did you hear anyone come down here earlier?”

“no?” bokuto replies. he grabs for the coffee eagerly. “i was asleep.”

here kuroo stalls out, deliberating as to how he wants to phrase this. “I am mostly sure kozume slept over in my bed last night. but there is a small chance it could have been a very strange dream. and he wasn’t there when i woke up.”

“ _bro_. kuroo. ?! kozume as in _your_ kozume? kozume _kenma_?

kuroo nods. the one and only.

“pudding head?” bokuto says again. “how did he get there?"

“left my room unlocked.” 

“and he just _slept_ there?”

“you 'just sleep’ anywhere,” kuroo reminds him, and pushes bokuto over so he can sit next to him on the couch. “yeah. I dunno.”

bokuto starts to laugh. “so you slept with him? and he snuck out before you woke up in the morning? sounds like you’re bad in bed.” 

“oh, _fuck_ _you_ bro.” kuroo flips him off. “for that i’m opening the curtains.”

he makes to get up from the couch but before he can actually move bokuto wraps his arms around him and pulls him back down. the two of them are really too big to lay on it comfortably.

“no no nooo, kurooo,” bokuto pleads. “i take it back, you’re a god in the bedroom, only second to me!!”

they scuffle for a second, but when one of bokuto’s elbows hits the coffee table with a loud rattle, they stop. it’s too close to the coffee mugs, and saturday morning post-party coffee is sacred. kuroo picks his up and cradles it protectively, and bokuto reaches out for another sip of his.

“i don’t know. maybe i should have given him the bed and taken another bedroom but. it’s my bed!”

“yeah!! it’s your bed!!” bokuto backs him up, then pauses to think. “man. if akaashi fell asleep in my bed i think i’d pass out.”

“bo, you’re dating him. he has literally slept over in your bed before.”

“hmm. good point.” bokuto acknowledges, then pouts. “now I miss akaaaaasgiguyhshi.”

akaashi consistently passes on the parties—he’s maybe come to one, ever. but from what bokuto has mentioned, his parents are pretty strict. bokuto had to meet with him under the guise of ‘tutoring’ for _months_.

“ah, to be young and in love.” kuroo affects an old man persona. 

“but aren’t you—“

_“no_!” kuroo interrupts bokuto before he can finish saying something _totally untrue._ “well, at least I have something to talk to him about.”

“you could’ve done this so much earlier, bro. if I were you, I would’ve talked to him the first week.”

kuroo wishes he could tell bokuto to shut up, but it’s true, he really did go right up to akaashi. somehow, _incredibly_ , that worked out for him. he’s not saying bokuto is dumb, but akaashi might be moronsexual.

“now you’re quiet because I’m right, hey hey! don’t worry, you can be my disciple. I’ll teach you how to pick up boys.”

“okay casanova, I can definitely pick up boys.”

“and not just with those guns.” bokuto feels up kuroo’s biceps. 

kuroo knocks off his hand and flips him off again, then retorts, “oh? Is the person who failed his last math test talking to me?”

“kuroooo! that’s low, bro, you can’t talk about school, it’s saturday. that’s the day of rest.”

“i’m certain it’s _sunday_ that’s the day of rest.”

“yeah, but i always end up having to do work on sunday, and practice.” bokuto frowns. “hey, what time is it?”

“mmmm, a bit before 1. why?”

“ah! akaashi wanted to have brunch at 1:30, i gotta go clean up.“ he pulls kuroo into a half hug, drains the rest of the still-piping hot coffee ( _how?),_ and is out the door a moment later. 

kuroo is a little shell shocked by the swift departure, but that’s bokuto—all go, go, go, until he’s not. he’s often around, but never stays. and now that kuroo is alone, the rest of the day stretches out unbearably long before him. 

he sighs, and gets started on making himself breakfast. he’ll probably kill time on a run later, and then get started on his math homework. he’s sure half the reason his grades are so good is he’ll take any way to distract himself. 

the other half of it is that he’s actually invested in his subjects, specifically his stem classes. yeah, okay, he might be a fuckin nerd, but he cannot wait to get out of this house and go to university and live with a friend and major in biochemical engineering. that’s the dream. imagining it has him swooning.

——

at school on monday kuroo tries his best to find kozume, only to discover kozume is quite skilled at disappearing.  kuroo’s not sure how kozume manages to avoid him so thoroughly because there aren’t _that_ many places you can go on the school grounds, but he doesn't let himself grow discouraged. he’ll run into kozume sooner or later. 

he just hopes it's _sooner_ rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hana made [lovely art](https://lumenera.tumblr.com/post/621467868415033344/when-kuroo-opens-his-door-and-turns-on-the-room) of the scene where kuroo finds kenma on his bed.


	2. Chapter 2

the next time he sees kozume is at his next party, shockingly enough. 

but kozume is looking listless in the corner. kuroo wonders if someone forced him to come. he deftly excuses himself from the conversation, if it can be called that—none of them can hear each other properly over the music—and slinks over to where kozume is standing.

propping himself up on the wall with one hand, he leans close to kozume’s much smaller frame. kozume looks up, his hair falling from his face to reveal wide golden eyes. 

kuroo shoots him his most charming (read: sleaziest) grin, ducking down slightly so kozume can hear him.

“you know, kozume, normally when i sleep with someone, they at least stay for breakfast. I make a mean meat scramble.” 

okay, that last bit might be a lie. the only person he’s made this for is bo, who still gives him shit for it. his best impression of kuroo is _i’m kuroo and my meat scramble game is weak as fuck._

kozume’s eyes dart sideways. he looks a little bit like he might want to bolt. this is the _last_ thing kuroo wants after trying to find him all week, so he dials himself back. perhaps that wasn’t the best opening line. and damn, it’s subtle but kozume is sagging a bit against the wall, clutching his phone in one hand and his drink in the other. he looks exhausted. 

kuroo feels bad. 

“don’t take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted.” kuroo finds himself saying to kozume. _smooth_. 

“I am.” kozume responds flatly.

“sleep is important for growing boys.” kuroo tells him, faux-helpful. 

kozume narrows his eyes. “maybe you should stop, then.”

“ohoho! kitten has claws.” kuroo laughs delightedly. he didn’t expect kozume to play along.

——

kenma shoots kuroo what he hopes is a _wildly_ unimpressed look. what does kuroo want? _is kuroo flirting with him?_

these are questions for the ages. 

they stand there for a second, heavy music pounding around them, some top 40 song that has the people around them rolling their bodies to the beat. or more like, hopping enthusiastically or sloppily grinding or making out. the average high schooler is _not_ an accomplished dancer. 

kenma takes a sip of his drink. this time he decided to try hard apple cider, because he thought it might taste similar to regular apple cider. he soon discovered that it does _not_ , much to his displeasure _._ well, perhaps it does a bit, but he’d much rather just have the apple cider.  he can tolerate this, though. 

“you…look tired too.” kenma ventures, his eyes flickering up to look at kuroo questioningly. he says it without much inflection, but he's curious. 

he carefully watches for kuroo’s reaction. kenma doesn’t want to overstep, but kuroo said it to him first, and he doesn’t _understand_ kuroo. 

there is no way, however extroverted he may be, that this party is a refueling exercise. kuroo is _clearly_ tired. he’s close enough kenma can see the dark circles beneath his sharp eyes despite the dim lighting, as well as the tension in his frame, and his expressions seem a bit…overdone.  then again, his expressions always seem slightly calculated to kenma. it’s not that kuroo is fake, but kenma has noticed a misalignment in how he expresses himself and what he seems to really feel. 

not that kenma has spent any amount of time watching kuroo’s face closely. he chooses to disregard how he’s literally doing that right now. 

kuroo’s eyes widen for an instant, but he regains control of his expression quickly. he smiles wide, eyes squinting into crescents, and throws an arm around kenma’s shoulders. 

kenma tenses up, but doesn’t shrug kuroo off. he can smell kuroo’s deodorant, and he feels the heat of kuroo’s body seeping through his shirt. 

“once i knew the sweetness of sleeping by your side, how was i supposed to rest properly without you? I’ve been pining all week.” kuroo laments. 

kenma chokes on his mouthful of cider, coughing, and kuroo removes his arm to pat kenma on the back.

“do girls really fall for such shameless things?” kenma asks when he regains his breath. his voice is a bit hoarse. 

he coughs one more time. kuroo’s large hand is still splayed on his back.

“and boys, and everyone else!” kuroo asserts, batting his eyelashes. “what, don’t you think I’m pretty?”

kenma snorts, looking away. kuroo looks ridiculous. _but he_ is _handsome,_ the little voice pops up. _and_ adept at changing the subject. 

kuroo draws his hand back to his chest and holds the other out, schooling his face in some semblance of earnestness. “shame and gender are a nonexistent barriers for someone like me.” 

kenma’s lips twitch and he has to bite his cheek to keep from smiling. 

_absurd_. it seems that kuroo is another person who should never be encouraged. 

“yo KUROO!” someone shouts above the music. “where did you go? we’re waiting!”

——

kuroo pivots to see a group gesturing by the table, cups already arranged for a game of flip cup. they were floating the idea when he left, but it seems like they decided to go through with it. 

“well, duty calls,” kuroo tells kozume, “i would say make yourself at home, but you seem perfectly capable of doing that yourself.” he adds with a wink.

before kozume can respond, kuroo trots back to where a knot of people surrounds the pong table.

he left his room unlocked again, just in case. it’s a gamble, but it’s a gamble he’s willing to make. he’ll keep an eye on lev, or better yet, dump him on yaku, who owes him for his help studying for the last chem test. 

“oya oya? I was summoned?” he smushes in next to bokuto.

“took you long enough,” bokuto laughs, and elbows him in the side. “let’s get flippin! you got a ball?”

“I got three bro, but only one for you!” breaking out a cocky grin, kuroo pulls a ping pong ball from his pocket and tosses it to bokuto, who kicks off the game.

kuroo is grateful he has a second before the ball makes its way round to him, because his head isn’t quite in it. his brain is still a little stuck on how small kozume is. it’s one thing to see him from a distance, or even in his bed, but—he felt like he was handling a baby bird or something. he could feel the delicate bones in kozume’s back. he wants to pick him up.

he hopes kozume eats enough. kuroo has to stomp on a sudden fantasy of cooking breakfast for him. _cut that out,_ he tells his brain sharply. 

he hadn’t expected to be so exposed under kozume’s watchful gaze. that question! _yeah, i’m_ so _tired_. but was he being that obvious? no one else had mentioned that he looked off. sure, maybe he had dark circles under his eyes, but he’s a third year, it’s only expected. 

kuroo feels a little off kilter, a little like his heart tripped down a flight of stairs.

the commotion of the people next to him rouses him from these thoughts—it’s time for kuroo to get his head in the game. 

he does what he does best: he compartmentalizes and performs.

——

after kuroo leaves, kenma moves back onto the couch he occupied last time. he’s on edge. he wishes he didn’t care so much about what people (kuroo) think of him. he wishes this was easier for him.

he’s not sure how kuroo can speak so casually about how kenma fell asleep in his bed, but at least he doesn’t seem _mad,_ or like he’s decided kenma is unforgivably weird. being shameless is something so foreign to kenma. arguably falling asleep on kuroo’s bed was pretty shameless, but he spent most of the past week justifying that to himself. 

if he hadn’t, he would have probably imploded. 

kenma’s anxiety has been a part of him since he was too young to have the words to describe it. he just knew that being seen by the entire world was horrifying. when he’s around other people, he’s almost always thinking about how he’s being viewed. being at the center of attention is his worst nightmare. he has no interest in standing out. 

and seeing too much of the world? also horrifying. he’s already overly aware of everything happening around him. he’s incredibly perceptive, yeah, but that means he gets overwhelmed easily by too many people or too many sounds. he keeps his hair long so he can block out his peripherals because it makes him anxious when his field of vision is too wide. 

his parents brought him to a therapist in the fifth grade after he skipped fifteen days of class in two months. it wasn’t anything dramatic, really. it happened like this: he’d feel the overwhelming urge to bolt, and then he’d act on it _._ usually he’d find a secluded bench in a nearby park and play games on his phone until it was time for him to head home. 

some part of him is always going to kick into that flight mode when he’s uncomfortable, but nowadays he can ride the urge out—he has better coping mechanisms. 

gaming is still one of them. his mind is always working, but he likes how in video games, he can direct it into something without the backtrack of doubts and unpredictability that comes with more general human interaction. 

_it’s_ _grounding_ , his therapist had told him when he mentioned this to her. so is counting his breaths, and focusing on one specific point of contact like his feet against the ground, and listing things in categories, and the a handful of other things mentioned in the printout she gave him that he still has folded in the back of his desk drawer.

he had shrugged. he didn’t need a label for it. but when he had tried the exercises, he found that they helped. in fact, it’s practicing those that let him approximate functional when he leaves his comfort zone. 

when he’s on his own, or now when he’s with shouyou, he’s fine. but anything more is more difficult, so kenma isn’t sure why he let shouyou convince him to come to this week’s party. shouyou was over the moon that kenma seemed to express anything other than distaste at the idea of voluntarily socializing. kenma isn’t particularly interested in growing his social skills. 

_but maybe_ , he thinks, _just_ maybe _, i’m a little interested in kuroo_.

shouyou once again was swept up by some other friends. when they first got there he hung out with kenma towards the edge of the room for a while, which kenma deeply appreciated. shouyou wants kenma to have fun, and though he doesn’t always _understand_ kenma, it’s clear he’s doing his best to accommodate him, so kenma pushes himself a little out of his comfort zone for shouyou. 

but now after 40 minutes of exposure, no matter how disengaged he’s been, kenma can safely say he’s maxed out his ability to deal with this many people around him.

someone jostles into kenma, spilling their drink on him and breaking him out of his introspection. they apologize, laughing and loud and happy-drunk, and pat at him to try to assess the damage. 

kenma shrinks away from their pawing hands. yeah, he’s done with this. 

he makes his way along the edges of the room to the bathroom door with the intent of trying to get less wet and sticky, but the door is locked. 

kenma knows where another bathroom is. upstairs, attached to kuroo’s room. 

kuroo did tell him to make himself at home. he didn’t seem to mind kenma all last time. and right now he just wants to be out of his now-wet hoodie—it smells like some sickly sweet fruit mixer and cheap vodka, and is quickly becoming cold and uncomfortable against his skin.

somewhere in the back of his mind, kenma knows that all of this is a weak excuse for what he is about to do, but he ignores the voice pointing this out.

he ducks out of the main room and up the stairs, padding down the hallway he found last time from last time. he can hear the music still, but it’s muffled, and he welcomes the relief from the bombardment of noise. kenma finds himself at the end of the hall, and sure enough, kuroo’s room is unlocked.

kenma slips in, shutting the door firmly behind him. he shrugs off his sweatshirt, only to discover to his dismay that more drink must have spilled than he thought—most of the front of his shirt is soaked as well. 

maybe he should just go home. but the walk seems unreasonably long now, in the cold darkness of the late evening. he would like to be warm and dry, is that so much to ask? 

_and asleep,_ his traitorous mind adds, conjuring images of him drifting off in a bed that looks terribly like kuroo’s. 

this is too complex of a decision making process for him right now. his executive functioning has decided to fritz out in the face of mild discomfort. so instead of making a move, he sits down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, pulls out his phone, and starts fiddling with one of the mindless apps he can play on how little brainpower he has right now. 

it’s time to not think for a bit, not about how his shirt is quite uncomfortable, not about kuroo, not about how last time he slept over. 

kenma isn’t really tracking how much time passes, but what he thinks isn’t too much later he hears the door to the room open, jolting him back to awareness. 

a pang of anxiety shoots through his chest. fuck, it’s so _weird_ to be sitting in kuroo’s bathroom, never mind the fact he fell asleep in kuroo's bed last friday.

——

kozume is curled up next to his sweatshirt in kuroo’s bathroom, gripping his phone and staring up at kuroo, his cat-like eyes wide in alarm. 

kuroo is equal parts surprised and amused to see him sitting there. 

“I could probably find you a more comfortable place to sit, kozume. In fact, I have a perfectly serviceable bed you seemed to have no trouble finding last time.”

kenma bites his lip. “someone spilled on me.” 

he fiddles with his phone, wishing that he still had on his hoodie so he could pull the cuffs over his hands. he feels exposed. 

kuroo smirks. kenma doesn’t find the crooked set of his mouth attractive. nor does he notice how sharp his jawline is from this angle. 

“ahh, the hazards of parties. here, let me—“ kuroo cuts off mid sentence and dips out of the bathroom back into his room. he returns a moment later with a bundle of fabric he tosses at kenma. 

a long sleeve shirt, crimson with faded white lettering on the front. it looks well worn. kenma stares at it. 

“it’s clean.” _fuck_ , thinks kuroo. _is this weird? i made it weird._ he’s just about to tell kozume he doesn’t have to take it when—

_“_ thanks,” he mumbles, and grabs it. 

kuroo shifts his weight from foot to foot. “yeah, yeah, no problem. you can take my room to change because someone has been in the downstairs bathroom for the past half hour and I’m about to piss myself.”

kenma gathers his things in his arms and hurries to his feet. he makes his way out the door. brushing past kuroo where he stands in the doorframe, and as soon as kenma is out the door is slammed shut behind him.

he takes off his wet shirt, using the dry part of it to wipe off his chest, and pulls on kuroo’s over his head. it takes him a second to find his way out of it, and he can’t help but notice it smells really nice. he breathes in, catching the faint detergent scent of clean cotton with a hint of the same smell he noticed in the bed and from kuroo. cologne? body wash? kenma isn’t sure.

it is _huge_ on him, predictably. he finds he loves it despite himself. the sleeves fall past his hands, and the bottom hits mid-thigh. it seems to be for some sports team—volleyball?—and is so, so soft. kenma wonders if he can get away with stealing it. 

he promptly un-wonders that. he doesn’t want kuroo’s clothes, even if they feel perfect for hiding in and are incredibly comfortable. he barely _knows_ kuroo.

he hears the toilet flush, followed by the sound of kuroo washing his hands. 

the bathroom door opens. kuroo sees kenma and freezes, whatever he was about to say lost at the sight of kenma in his shirt. kenma fights to urge to squirm under his gaze. he grows uncomfortable as kuroo continues to stare, looking like—well. kenma isn’t sure how to place this look. 

it’s kind of. _intimate_. kenma supposes, but then pushes that thought away. maybe he does look stupid. the shirt is stupidly oversized, after all. kenma fidgets his feet. he probably should have gone home in the first place. he doesn’t know why he keeps embarrassing himself in front of kuroo. 

both kuroo and kenma flinch when a sudden bang sounds from downstairs, followed by a roar of voices. kuroo regains his composure. 

“you can chill in here, if you want. no one should bother you. I’m going back down to make sure those idiots haven’t broken anything in the ten minutes I was away.” he tells kenma. “this is why we can’t have nice things.”

from what kenma’s seen, this entire house seems to be filled with nice things. nice things seem to be _all_ that kuroo has. but kuroo seems pretty nonchalant about it all.

kuroo’s gaze falls on where kenma’s sweatshirt and shirt are balled up on the floor. “ah. your wet clothes can hang on the rack in the bathroom. you need anything else?”

kenma’s mouth is dry. he wets his lips with his tongue. “do you have a charger I can use?”

“phone? yeah. side of the bed.” kuroo nods his head in the direction of the nightstand. they stand there for another beat. at what point kenma should go remains unaddressed. 

kenma waits for kuroo to leave before taking his sweatshirt to the bathroom and flopping onto the bed, face down.

he’s never been the sort to scream into pillows—he’s never been the sort to scream, generally—and he isn’t going to start now. but w h a t. is he doing? 

he remembers his phone, raises his head for a second and rolls over to plug it in, and then rolls back to burying his face in the bed. 

what is _kuroo_ doing? what sort of person just gives permission to camp out in their room? he knows more socially inclined people thought about things differently, but this seems excessive, considering kuroo doesn’t know him. and yet, here kenma is, in his shirt, in his bed. 

kenma can’t say he isn’t comfortable though, at least physically. 

he really doesn’t want to think about anything right now. sleep sounds _so_ tempting. it may be ill-advised, but kuroo doesn’t seem to care, and kenma can’t bring himself to do so either. 

he knows he’s weak, but he can’t—he won’t—deny himself creature comforts. when he’s this tired, the soft animal of his body runs the show. if he feels the urge to flee, he leaves. if he feels the urge to sleep, he sleeps. 

kenma gets up and turns off the light, and settles down on top of the covers. if he wakes up before kuroo comes back, he’ll go home, he tells himself. 

then, he sleeps. 

——

kenma awakens to the sound of the door opening when kuroo comes in, but it’s much quieter than last time.

he hears soft footsteps, then the sharp buzz of a toothbrush in the adjacent bathroom. the shower turns on, and then off a few minutes later. 

kuroo pads past kenma’s field of view in a towel, illuminated by the warm light emanating from the partly-opened door to the bathroom. kenma stops looking. he hears rustling he assumes is kuroo changing. the noise stops, and kenma cracks open his eyes again. 

kuroo’s leaning against the wall with his head back and heel of hand pressed into the side of one of his eye, and part of kenma wonders if this is actually still a dream, because this isn’t an expression he’s ever seen on kuroo’s face before. it looks so _tired_ , on a deeper level than just sleepy. and a bit sad. 

he wonders if the bang from earlier was anything important. he hopes kuroo won’t get in trouble.

but that doesn’t seem quite right. kenma watches through slitted eyes as kuroo straightens up and moves to takes something out of the top shelf of the closet. he walks over to kenma’s side of the bed, and kenma shuts his eyes again, motionless, faking sleep. 

there’s a a rush of air, then a slight weight on top of him. kuroo has put a blanket on him. kenma resolutely continues to stay still, focusing on keeping his breathing even. the fabric pulls on him as kuroo adjusts it, making sure kenma is fully covered. 

he’s close enough kenma can smell his body wash, refreshing and spiced. kenma likes it. 

kuroo stays there for a few breaths. kenma peers out from under his lashes to try to see what kuroo is doing, but he walks out of kenma’s field of view. 

the bed dips when kuroo gets in, and the blankets under kenma get tugged over a bit as kuroo settles down beneath them. 

“sorry,” kuroo whispers into the silent room. he shifts a bit more, and then goes still, curled so he’s facing away from kenma. 

kenma waits until he can hear kuroo’s breathing even out, and then changes positions, trying to get comfortable again. he bumps into kuroo accidentally and rush of adrenaline shoots through him at the thought of kuroo waking up and then having to _interact_ with him. 

kenma’s not _not_ okay that he’s sleeping over again, but he doesn’t want to talk about it because he doesn’t know how to justify why he’s doing this. and he feels like he _does_ have to explain it, because this isn’t normal behavior for him. he doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

that’s not true. he does what he wants to do. but he’s not ready to candidly examine what he wants and why. 

kuroo doesn’t react, so kenma figures kuroo is asleep for good. he tentatively moves so his back is almost flush with kuroo’s blanket covered one, and matches breaths with him. 

deep breath in, deep breath out. 

28 breaths later his count falls off and he just _breathes,_ mind fading back into sleep. 

——

kenma sleeps till later in the morning, this time, and wakes again to a tanned, toned arm wrapped around his waist. kuroo had rolled over in the night, and is effectively cuddling him through the blanket. jesus christ. 

his heart thrills at the contact, equal parts anxiety and—well. he doesn’t hate it. 

kenma keeps his body still and tilts his head to study kuroo as he sleeps. he looks a different with his features relaxed, not a single infuriating smirk to be found. softer. sunlight slants through the blinds on the window above the bed and pools on kuroo’s high cheekbones. 

_kuroo has unfair bone structure,_ thinks kenma grumpily. he continues to stare at kuroo’s sleeping face, reveling in the softness of the bed beneath him and the warmth of the body next to him. 

being held like this—kenma finds himself enjoying it. there’s something very grounding about it. it’s so _weird._ he would never have thought this would be something he’d want. he doesn’t think he’s ever thought this positively about human contact before. it’s nice with shouyou, sure, and fine with his family, but he actively _likes_ this. it makes him feel a little squirmy.

he tests whether he can move without disturbing kuroo by twisting himself away slightly. the grip on him tightens. he reaches for kuroo’s hand and tugs on it in an attempt to get free. kuroo makes a low noise in the back of his throat. 

kenma has a sudden terrible vision of kuroo opening his eyes and saying _if you wanted to hold it, you could’ve just asked._ and then winking at him. kenma has no doubts that real kuroo would indeed be that obnoxious, even moments after waking up. 

but kuroo is thankfully not awake. kenma squirms out from his grasp and lets go of kuroo’s hand. his arm falls limply back on the covers. kenma tiptoes around to retrieve his phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand, then carefully opens the bathroom door to grab his dirty clothes. slipping on his shoes, he glances back at kuroo to make sure he’s still asleep, and then leaves. 

as kenma walks back to his house, squinting against the morning sun in his eyes, he hopes his mom isn’t up yet. not that she’d have a problem with him being out—she’d be _ecstatic_ that he stayed over at at a friend’s house. 

but he’d have to lie and tell her he was with shouyou, because if he mentioned kuroo she’d want to know more about him. and kenma doesn’t _know_ that much about him. he doesn’t even think they’re friends. they’ve just slept together twice. 

his mom adores shouyou. to be fair, most people do, but she does especially because shouyou’s the first person kenma’s talked about with any sort of enthusiasm and fondness. he’s the first person kenma’s taken the time to hang out with outside of necessary group work for school. shouyou is his first real—and best—friend. 

kenma smiles. he should honestly thank shouyou for asking him to come to this week’s party again. he feels curiously energized. not wired, like anxiety, but—well rested? this may be the best he’s slept all week.

it’s only when he gets home that he realizes he’s still wearing kuroo’s shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kenma, while looking: I am Not Looking
> 
> "i'm kuroo and my meat scramble game is weak as fuck" is a reference to [this.](https://rhymewithrachel.tumblr.com/post/138838633268/why-are-they-like-this)


	3. Chapter 3

the third friday kenma is not in denial. he’ll admit it. he thinks kuroo is interesting. and he’s been nice to kenma. and he has a _really_ nice bed. 

even though he wakes up when kuroo comes in, kenma falls asleep easier and sleeps deeper in kuroo’s bed than he does in his own. he like the smell and the sheets are soft and the mattress cradles his body in a way that makes him feel like he’s floating even before he’s half-asleep. 

so he can almost convince himself this is self care. kenma knows about sleep hygiene and making spaces that are specifically for sleep, but his bedroom is not just a place for sleep. if anything, by now it's a place for not-sleep.

he’s been sleeping so poorly this week. he'll lay down, exhausted, and the anxiety thrumming through his body keeps him up. it’s like being highly caffeinated when you’re so sleep deprived your brain no longer works—heart fluttering, eyes heavy, head aching, and sleep constantly just beyond the horizon. unpleasant, to say the least. 

he can sleep fine during the day, and will nap on any discreet horizontal surface he can find, but there’s only so far that gets him. no number of naps can make up a full night of sleep. and he doesn’t want to spend another night trying and failing to fall asleep, then playing games till morning, and napping for four hours in the afternoon when he gets back from school. kenma is. so. tired. and so fed up.

but. the past two times he slept in kuroo’s bed, he just…fell asleep. and kuroo’s been letting him. kuroo has initiated. kuroo has demonstrated interest. 

so kenma has a plan. he’ll go through his usual routine of pretending to chill downstairs for a while, but once shouyou inevitably goes off to say hi to some other people, he’s going to go upstairs and sleep. 

he makes eye contact with kuroo at one point, entirely by accident. okay, so if you’re watching someone and they turn and see you watching them maybe it isn’t completely accidental. but he didn’t mean for kuroo to _catch_ him watching. kuroo seems surprised for a second, then shoots him a smirk that evens out into a bright grin. 

kenma flushes in embarrassment and looks away, cheeks burning. his heartbeat feels irregular. maybe he should get that checked out. 

shouyou leaves, and this is one of the few time kenma’s been thankful for that because it means he can _finally_ go sleep _._ eager to escape the crowd and the noise, he makes his way upstairs. once again, he finds kuroo’s bedroom unlocked. 

kenma takes this as permission. if kuroo has an issue with whatever this is, he can lock his door.

this is the first premeditated sleepover on kenma’s part, and he strategized to optimize it. he made sure to brush his teeth before he came, because his mouth felt disgusting when he woke up after the last two parties. 

kenma is a cold sleeper, but the combination of the heat kuroo radiates and the thick covers means he’s been at a danger of overheating. so kenma takes off his shoes and socks, then shrugs off his shorts and sweatshirt before he crawls into the bed. he didn’t even bother turning on the light when he came in. 

as far as he’s concerned boxers are pants, and kuroo’s been sleeping in _his_ boxers and a t-shirt, so kenma doesn’t see why he shouldn’t make himself more comfortable. he’s going to subtly push to see what the boundaries of this silent arrangement are, because that seems easier than talking about it. 

mmmm. kenma is _so_ cozy. he nestles under the blankets, eyes fluttering shut in contentment. 

he can hear the muffled music emanating the floor below, which is a little annoying, but he’s tired enough and comfortable enough he’s asleep before the end of the song.

——

kenma wakes up to the noise of someone, hopefully kuroo, retching in the bathroom. _ugh_. it sounds awful. he debates whether he should acknowledge it or not, but kuroo, for all his popularity and posturing and unabashed flirtation and general sleaziness, has undeniably been kind to him. 

kenma sighs, mind made up, and hoists himself out of bed.

kuroo is feeling miserable. stupid party stupid him stupid everything. that’s the last time he’s ever going to go shot for shot with iwaizumi. fucking oikawa has the worst ideas, but he’s so good at getting people to go along with them. when he came in he had set the lights to their dimmest setting so they wouldn’t hurt his eyes, but the low electric hum is like a saw to his brain. 

he startles weakly as he feels a small hand cautiously touch his bare shoulder. he knows he must look like shit, sitting on the bathroom floor in his boxers. 

“sorry,” he mumbles, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain. “did I wake you up?”

“no,” kenma says automatically, and then berates himself because yes, obviously kuroo did. “here. water.”

“thanks.” he blindly grabs the cup and takes a sip, swishing it around and spitting it out, before taking a longer drink. 

kenma looks at him, conflicted, and weighs his options. he wants to ask if kuroo needs anything else, but the last thing he wants to do is to impose. it’s possible he should just leave and give kuroo the space to deal with this himself. but in kuroo’s place, kenma thinks he’d want company. 

the last time kenma threw up was probably four years ago when he got the stomach bug that was going around at the time. he remembers it being terrible, but it would have been worse if his mom hadn’t sat up with him and fetched him water and just _been_ there. 

“you can go back to sleep, i’ll be quieter.” kuroo croaks after a few more swallows. “i’m done now.” 

kuroo sounds exhausted, his voice raw. he shifts so he’s no longer hunched over the toilet, and is now leaning against the wall, legs out in front of him, head tilted back so he doesn’t have to support the weight of it. he closes his eyes. it occurs to kenma he’s never seen kuroo look _happy_ after a party. 

kenma moves to sit down next to him, their shoulders a few inches apart. he can feel the heat radiating off kuroo’s body. a part of him wants to move closer until he’s flush against kuroo’s side. he tries to tell himself he’s just chilly. 

“why do you do this?” slips out of kenma’s mouth. 

oh, _shit_. he didn’t mean to say that. 

but kuroo actually laughs out loud. “i ask myself that each day.” he tilts his head to glance sideways down at kenma. “but which part?”

he might as well be truthful. “throw these parties. you don’t seem…happy, after them.”

kenma know he’s not one to talk. he clearly isn’t enthused about kuroo’s parties, so why is _he_ here? to sleep, mainly, but that’s not a conversation they’re going to have right now. 

“observant, huh?” kuroo huffs. he seems more sober now, mood shifting towards something lower that kenma isn’t sure he likes. 

kenma shrugs. _i_ _t’s obvious_ , he thinks. _how can it be that your friends don’t notice?_

kuroo hums and rolls his head back so he’s once again gazing up at the ceiling. he closes his eyes. kenma takes the opportunity to stare at him more blatantly.

he stays silent just long enough kenma thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, then he talks. 

“it’s mainly the _afterwards,_ not the party itself,” he starts. “my parents aren’t around much, y’know? the house is big. I’m bad at being alone.” 

_I get lonely,_ goes unsaid. _it’s too big to be empty_. 

“and when everyone leaves…it’s just a stopgap.” kuroo sighs, and falls quiet again. he scratches his nose, then takes a drink of water. with the back of his hand, he wipes the sweat off his forehead. 

“sometimes,” he confesses, more to himself than kenma, “i’m tired.” _too tired for a party,_ kenma hears. “but being alone here is—“ kuroo cuts himself off, and swallows. 

he turns to look back at kenma. “this is my m.o., right? this is what people keep coming around for, and i gotta give the people what they want.” 

“it’s not your job to entertain them if you don’t feel like it.” kenma says, slightly sharper than he intends to be. it seems unfair. he’s surprised by how much this bothers him. 

“would they stick around if I didn’t?” kuroo asks, then seems to realize what he said. he huffs out another laugh, bitter, scrubbing at his face with his hand and then running it through his hair, leaving it even more disastrous looking.

“forget that, i’m drunk. look. they want to have some fun, I want to have some fun. so I throw fun parties. they have fun, and I usually have fun, and the house is full of people.” he gestures with his hands to delineate the logic of these points. “it’s a win-win.”

kuroo has said fun five times in the last few breaths. kenma find this incredibly convincing.

“but now—it’s just post party drop. the shift from so many people to alone…” he shakes his head. he’s trying to grasp something. “and it’s less fun when i’m tired. sometimes i wish—“ 

he stops and inhales a deep breath, then has a sip of his water. 

“I do wish it didn’t _always_ have to be a party. it would be nice to just. i don’t know. have people come over and sit.” he admits in choppy bursts. 

this is surreal. 

kuroo tetsurou, whose name is practically synonymous with party, is opening up to kenma about how he doesn’t always want to party while they sit inches apart on his bathroom floor.

“sounds like you need better friends.” kenma voices mildly. not that he’s one to judge other people’s friends. he only has shouyou, really. but he can be _himself_ around shouyou. he can be quiet and tired around shouyou. this seems like a low bar to set for friendship. 

kenma is starting to piece together a picture of why kuroo keeps letting him stay. he misjudged kuroo. or rather, kuroo is generally misjudged, and kenma called it—kuroo’s _not_ that extroverted. these parties _don’t_ refuel him. 

_you should have friends you can be tired with,_ kenma thinks. kuroo could be quiet and tired around him.

“awww, are you offering?” kuroo sounds delighted, as if he’d read kenma’s mind. “I knew you’d fall for my charms eventually.” he bumps their shoulders together, waggling his eyebrows.

kenma scrunches up his nose, but—“you’re okay, i guess,” he allows.

kuroo looks better than he should for someone who had just thrown up the entire contents of his stomach and is on the bathroom floor in his boxers. and oh, fuck. kenma wasn’t supposed to be noticing that. 

under hum of the bathroom lights, slider set to the lowest setting, everything looks golden—his eyes, his skin—and there is _entirely_ too much skin on display. kenma makes himself look away. he’s too tempted to let his eyes linger.

the solid heat of kuroo’s shoulder against his makes him itch for more contact. and he _is_ a little cold. he lets himself lean in, oh so slightly. 

when kenma peeks back at kuroo to see if he noticed, kuroo is smiling, softer now than kenma’s seen before. 

kuroo scoots over even closer to kenma so their shoulders are properly pressed together and oh _god_ did kenma really mean to give him implicit permission to get in his personal space? he doesn’t think he can handle any more of this. 

but kuroo doesn’t do anything more. they just sit there on the bathroom floor, shoulder to shoulder, in silence. 

kenma finds himself more comfortable than kenma-from-three-weeks-ago ever thought he could be with kuroo. except kenma can’t get his mind to shut up, because he’s not _used_ to being this close to someone, and he doesn’t know how to deal to the fact that he likes this. 

“I should shower.” kuroo breaks the silence with a sigh. “i smell like beer. when i was on the couch someone spilled their drink in my hair, kozume. my _hair._ all my work, completely ruined.”

“I thought it always looks like that.” kenma deadpans, tiredness lowering his inhibitions. he lied. it looks noticeably worse than usual. “…you can call me kenma.”

“you’re so cruel, kenma!” kuroo whines, but he can’t hide the pleased curve of his lips. 

kenma suddenly finds himself in the awkward position of—does he say something about sleeping over? the first time was a fluke, the second was offered by kuroo in a roundabout way, though he was drunk. now they are both awake, and approximating sober after this unexpected moment of vulnerability.

“you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?” kuroo ventures.

kenma nods, yawning, thankful that kuroo was the one to address that. he’s already feeling sleepy again. 

kuroo picks himself off the floor and stretches, back arching like a cat. kenma studies the shift and flex of muscle underneath his skin. 

then he offers kenma a hand. kenma takes it hesitantly, only for kuroo to pull him up with ease. kuroo’s hand is lightly calloused and much warmer than his, and much larger. the degree to which kuroo’s hand envelops his makes kenma a bit self-conscious, but he can’t help but notice they fit together nicely.

kenma’s never given hand holding much thought, but if it’s like this, he thinks he might be able to see the appeal. there’s something inexplicably intimate about this, even though it’s just a _hand_. 

they stand there for another beat, kenma’s hand in kuroo’s, before kuroo lets him go. 

“well, goodnight kenma.” he smiles crookedly down at kenma.

“gnight, kuroo.” kenma replies, heading out of the bathroom back towards bed. 

he is ready to sink into the mattress and go back to sleep. the floor hadn’t been the most comfortable place to have a heart to heart, but he’s glad that kuroo confided in him. it makes him _pleased_ in a way he can’t quite place that he knows something about kuroo that no one else does. it’s like finding a secret route in a game, but better. 

“kenma?” kuroo calls after him. kenma turns around to meet his eyes. “thanks. for listening.” he says, then shuts the bathroom door.

by the time kuroo comes into the bed from his shower, kenma is almost fully asleep, but he rouses slightly at the shift of the mattress beneath him. kuroo smells nice, freshly washed, and kenma catches a whiff of mint toothpaste. he can hear the sound of kuroo’s breath, and feels the covers pull tight as kuroo adjusts them over himself. 

a sleepy, thoughtless part of kenma considers moving closer. rolling towards kuroo, just to see what he would do, and because kuroo smells good and is clean and warm and so close already.

kenma thinks he could probably get away with it, but he makes himself stay where he is, and it doesn’t take long for him to fall back into a deep sleep. 

——

in the morning when kenma wakes, he find himself closer to kuroo than ever before. they must have shifted in their sleep, because now kenma is laying flush against kuroo’s side, head resting on kuroo’s shoulder instead of the pillow. kuroo’s arm is wrapped loosely around kenma, hand resting on his waist, and one of kenma’s arms is thrown over kuroo’s torso. 

kenma can’t let himself stay like this any longer or he won’t be able to make himself leave. gingerly—reluctantly—he disentangles himself from kuroo, rolling over to the other edge of the bed. he gets up as quietly as he can, then pulls on his clothes and his shoes.

something in his chest squirms uncomfortably. he feels… _bad._ leaving like this. which is unexpected, because it’s what he’s done for the last two times. but. 

kuroo’s question from last night, _would they stick around?,_ keeps running through his mind.

kenma spots a pad of sticky notes and a few pens on the desk in the corner of the room. he pauses. what would he even write? _thanks_? ok. kenma goes with that before he can overthink this whole thing. 

where will kuroo see it?

he presses it onto the pillow he had fallen asleep on and leaves.

——

something has shifted between them ever since that late night talk. they still don’t talk to each other outright at school because people flock around kuroo, his obnoxious laugh echoing through the halls, and kenma seems to be trying to do his best to be lost in the crowd. 

but sometimes kuroo will catch kenma’s gaze and a greeting will pass between them. acknowledgment, unspoken. and every now and then, kenma feels a prickling between his shoulder blades turns around to see kuroo’s amber gaze fixed intently on him. 

things come to a head on friday. 

it’s after the last class has let out. kenma is waiting by the gates for shouyou, passing time by playing a game on his phone. it’s not uncommon for shouyou to get sidetracked on his way out, but he shouldn’t be _too_ much longer. 

“hey there, kitty cat.”  kuroo—there’s no one else this could be—comes up behind him, wrapping kenma in a backwards hug. 

“kuroo.” kenma greets, ignoring the nickname. he doesn't look up from his phone, but he relaxes in kuroo’s arms. kuroo rests his chin on kenma’s head.

“will I be graced with your presence some point later tonight?” kenma can feel the movements of kuroo’s jaw when he speaks. 

kuroo has phrased this so ambiguously kenma almost rolls his eyes. kuroo barely sees him at the actual party. kenma wonders why they’re still dancing around this, but _he’s_ not going to be the first one to address it. 

“yeah.” his character dies. kenma shifts a little to try to put his phone in his bag, and kuroo lets go of him to give him back his range of motion. “i’ll be there.” 

“then i’ll see ya then,” kuroo grins, satisfied, and ruffles kenma’s hair before sauntering back towards a throng of people. 

_yeah,_ thinks kenma, finger combing his hair back in place. _see you then._


	4. Chapter 4

kenma doesn’t bother staying downstairs at the party for more than a few minutes. he's gotten a total of fifteen hours of sleep in the past three nights, and he only managed to make it this far because kuroo made him promise to show up. 

well, kuroo hadn't _made_ him do anything.

at the end of the day, no one can make kenma do anything he doesn't want to do. kenma wanted to come. knowing that kuroo wanted him there too, and was _expecting_ him, was the extra motivation he needed to head over despite his exhaustion. 

up in kuroo’s room, kenma burrows into the bed. he’s _so_ _comfortable_. he wonders if all rich people have mattresses this nice. he also wonders how long he can keep doing this before something breaks.

he _knows_ this is unsustainable. they're going to have to talk about it eventually. but kenma doesn’t know what there is to say, or how to say it. if he thinks about this too much, he’s going to set off his anxiety, so he carefully edges away from those thoughts.

for now, he’s going to sleep. 

——

kuroo’s been looking for kenma all night but he doesn’t see him. he’s distracted enough that bokuto asks him if something is up.  his heart sinks lower and lower over the course of the party when he doesn’t catch a glimpse kenma. kenma didn’t _have_ to come. but. he _said_ he would. 

at the end of the night when everyone else has left, kuroo still hasn’t seen kenma. he halfheartedly cleans downstairs in the intolerable silence, then climbs up the stairs to his room, sadness sitting heavy as a stone his stomach. he just wants to shower and then pass out. 

he opens his door, and his heart swoops when he spots the small lump in his bed. he’s almost dizzy with the combination of residual disappointment mixed with intense relief and fondness.

it looks like kenma is fast asleep.

kuroo had wanted to spend time with kenma, but it’s okay. he's glad he didn’t accidentally wake him up. kenma _did_ come. it sends little thrills through him just to have kenma there _._ he’ll be gone by morning, probably, but last time he left a note, so maybe…he’ll leave another note? kuroo kept the note. it’s in his desk drawer. it just says _thanks_. 

that has to mean something. 

maybe kenma is just very tired all the time. kuroo has a very nice bed. does he just want to sleep in kuroo’s bed? kuroo doesn’t know. he _hopes_ not. you don’t come to sleep in someones bed if you don’t like them at least a little, right? 

but kenma is hard to read. kuroo sighs. emotions are exhausting. he showers and brushes his teeth as quietly as he can, and then slips in bed next to kenma. 

——

kenma wakes up with kuroo spooned around him fully. this time, instead of leaving, he turns into the embrace, fingers tangling in kuroo’s shirt. if kuroo says anything weird, he’ll feign ignorance. pretend he did it in his sleep. 

_it’s only fair,_ he thinks, _because kuroo has been doing this to me for the past three weeks._

for a while he lays there like that, curled in kuroo’s arms. kenma’s mind hasn’t fully turned on yet, and the usual low buzz of anxiety in the back of his brain is quiet. he feels safe here on an instinctive level. soon, the heat emanating from kuroo’s body and the softness of the sheets lulls him back to sleep. 

the next time he wakes, kuroo is already up and watching him wonderingly. 

“you stayed.” he marvels, all soft and genuine from the morning. he has a pillow crease on one cheek, and his hair is flattened where he slept on it. 

kenma feels his breath catch from the intensity of the look, and his cheeks grow warm. “you asked. we didn’t see each other earlier.”

“yeah,” breathes kuroo. he’s so happy he’s floating. 

they stay like that for an indefinite period of time, sleepy and entwined.

neither of them know how to get here without the pretense of the party. kenma thinks they’re both scared to disrupt whatever's been building, so they haven’t been talking about it to see how far that gets them. it’s not going to be much farther, he knows, but it’s good enough for now. 

kenma is drifting again in a state of hazy half-consciousness. his head is pressed against kuroo’s chest, and he can feel the rumbles of kuroo’s voice when he asks, “you want breakfast?”

kenma’s not sure what time it is, but he _is_ hungry. it comes as a bit of a surprise because he doesn’t usually have much of an appetite, but it makes sense given the last time he ate was dinner at six the night before.

“mmhm,” kenma hums in affirmation, mushing his face into kuroo’s shirt. ick. his mouth tastes bad. what’s the protocol for asking the person who’s bed you’ve been sleeping in if they have a toothbrush you can use? kenma’s asking for a friend. 

he makes no effort to leave the bed because he has no desire to move—he's content to lay there, half-asleep in kuroo’s warm embrace. if they must get up, kuroo can be the first one to do so. 

sure enough, a few minutes later, kuroo untangles himself from kenma and stands up with a groan, then wanders into the bathroom.  kenma checks his phone. it’s a little before 10. he should be good for a few hours. he hears the toilet flush, and the sink turn on. 

“kenma,” kuroo’s head pops out of the bathroom door. “if you wait here for a second, I can get you a toothbrush from one of the guest bathrooms.” 

another problem gets solved without effort on kenma’s part. or rather, kuroo solves another problem for him. kenma is impressed by how well kuroo anticipates his needs. he knows he’s being a bit lazy, but kuroo makes things so _easy_ for him. 

“thanks,” kenma says, and smiles at him.  kuroo runs into the door frame.

well, he clips it with his shoulder. his face twists in affront, as if it wasn’t his fault for being distracted enough to walk into a stationary object. 

affecting a bad accent, kuroo shakes his fist at the frame. “hey, I’m walkin’ here!” 

predictably, the doorframe has no response. kenma has to bite down hard on his cheek so he doesn’t smile again. kuroo is _so_ lame, and kenma is in _so_ much trouble. he’s not going to encourage this. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” kuroo says, voice normal once again, and heads out the door without any further issues. 

kenma sits cross legged on the bed and fiddles with his phone while he waits for kuroo to return. he checks his messages. there are a few from shouyou, but nothing that requires a response from him. he sends his mom a text.

> mom

i’ll be home for lunch at 1

10:03am

kuroo returns brandishing a toothbrush, still packaged in plastic. “for you,” he tosses it on the bed next to kenma. “want a new shirt?”

kenma considers this, then shakes his head. he’s only worn this one to sleep. it doesn’t seem like there’s any need to change. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” kuroo informs him, “come down when you’re ready.”

kenma pees, washes his hands, then brushes his teeth. he cups his hands under the facet and splashes some water on his face, drying it off on one of the many fluffy towels. pulling on his shorts, he heads downstairs after kuroo, feeling only slightly more awake.

when he enters the kitchen, kuroo has a pot set out for coffee and is leaning against the counter waiting for the water to boil. kenma takes a seat on the end of the table closer to the stove.

“hey,” kuroo turns around. “you want coffee?”

kenma declines, shaking his head. he’ll drink coffee if he’s really, _really_ sleep deprived, but in general it interfaces with his anxiety in a way that makes him feel like his heart is going to break free of his chest and float out of his vibrating body. 

nevertheless, it’s a tempting offer. he likes the taste, so sometimes he’ll drink it anyway, however ill advised, but now is probably not the time. this is actually the most sleep he’s had in two months—around twelve hours. 

he doesn’t feel particularly alert right now, though. he’s soft from oversleeping, but he’s happy to stay like that for a moment because it’s so nice to not _think_.

the water has boiled. hefting up the kettle, kuroo drizzles the hot water in spirals around the coffee in the drip brewer. some of the grounds’ rich aroma drifts over to kenma, who inhales deeply. 

it’s a comforting smell. 

kuroo sets the kettle back and turns to kenma. “you want anything else to drink? juice, water?” 

“water.” kenma requests, blinking up at him bleary-eyed. 

from the cupboard above the sink kuroo withdraws a glass, fills it with water from the dispenser on the fridge door, and sets it in front of kenma.

kuroo rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. “you good with pancakes?”

kenma nods, watching as kuroo opens various cupboards to assemble ingredients. _oh_. kuroo meant pancakes from _scratch_. he had no idea kuroo could cook, but he supposes there’s a lot he doesn’t know about kuroo. 

and it’s clear that kuroo _is_ practiced around the kitchen. his movements are efficient, and in less than ten minutes he has the batter ready. the assorted measuring cups and other bowl are set in the sink to soak, and kuroo turns on the stove. kenma hears a clicking, accompanied by a whomp of gas catching fire. 

does kuroo want to talk? kenma wonders if he should say something. he doesn’t really know what to say, but kuroo seems perfectly content to keep an eye on the pan, humming tunelessly as he flips its contents.

“the first one always comes out a bit fucked up,” he tells kenma, showing hims a perfectly fine looking pancake. 

the later ones do have much more evenly browned surfaces, though, and when kuroo’s amassed a stack of six or so he turns off the stove and lays the platter on the kitchen table. 

opening the fridge, he also sets out a pint of fresh blackberries, a glass jar in the shape of a maple leaf half-filled with amber syrup, and moves the stick of butter from the stove-side to the table. 

“bon appetit,” kuroo states, handing kenma a plate and a fork. he’s grabbed utensils for himself as well, and settles down next in the chair next to kenma. 

“thank you,” kenma yawns out, covering his mouth. 

they eat mostly in silence, kenma still sodden with sleep. kuroo seems happy to sip his coffee and watch kenma. 

“i didn’t think you came.” kuroo confesses. “when i didn’t see you downstairs.” he has his head propped up with one hand and is surveying kenma with heavy lidded eyes. 

“sorry,” kenma apologizes, “i was really tired.”

“don’t apologize,” kuroo touches his arm. “i’m glad you got sleep.” he pauses, looking concerned. “you did sleep well, right?”

“mmhm,” kenma nods. a beat later, he remembers his manners. “did you?”

“sure did,” kuroo smirks. “was awfully nice waking up to you in my bed.” 

kenma looks down, embarrassed. he doesn’t know what to say when kuroo says things like that. yeah, he _also_ enjoyed waking up in kuroo’s bed. but he can never tell how sincerely kuroo means what he says, or if he’s just doing his normal flirtatious thing. thinking about this makes something squirm uneasily in his chest, so he pulls his mind away, focusing instead on the food kuroo’s made for him. 

he surprises himself by finishing two full pancakes—they’re _really_ good. he knows he told his mom he’d be home for lunch, but he’s not going to be able to eat so soon after this. setting down his fork, kenma notices with distaste his fingers have gotten sticky, and brings them to his mouth to lick the syrup off. 

he hears a noise and looks up to see kuroo choking on his coffee. kenma nudges his cup of water towards kuroo, who gratefully takes a gulp of it. his coughing subside, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you mind if I have the rest of these?” kuroo points at the two remaining pancakes. 

kenma shakes his head. he’s done with pancakes, but he wants to investigate the fruit. reaching out for the carton of blackberries, he grabs a handful and eats them one by one, taking pleasure in the way they burst sweet-tart in his mouth. he lets out a happy hum. fresh berries are a treat his mom rarely buys because they’re _expensive._

“want anything else to eat?” kuroo asks kenma when he’s finished with his berries, gaze fond. 

“no,” kenma says, then adds almost shyly, “the pancakes were good. thank you.” 

kuroo lights up like someone told him he’d won a nobel prize. 

“thank _you_ ,” he grins lopsidedly at him, and kenma has to turn away. it’s not _fair_ kuroo can look like this. “it’s nice to eat with someone. usually it’s just me.”

“do you always cook for yourself?” kenma finds himself curious.

kuroo nods. “taught myself. had a period a few years ago when I got really into it, because it takes up so much time.” his lips twist wryly. “my parents are mostly away on business, so I didn’t exactly have a lot to do around the house.”

“what do they do?” kenma asks, taking a sip of his water.

kuroo’s mentioned his parents before, but kenma can’t understand why they’d spend _so_ much time away from him and the house. it doesn’t seem like they need any more money.

“they’re the ceo and cfo of a biomedical devices conglomerate.” kuroo pauses, “I’m not sure precisely what their work entails, just that it’s a lot of meetings with various sub-company heads and travel and financing.”

kenma looks at him blankly for a second. 

“…I don’t know what biomedical devices are.” he admits. 

“oh, they’re cool as fuck. on a base level it’s anything that ends up going in someone’s body for medical purposes. traditionally they’ve been hardware—actual electronics. so implants, like pacemakers, or knee or hip replacements.” kuroo motions at the relevant areas of his body as he lists the related devices.

“but now they’re starting to make other treatments using materials that originate in the body. there’s some cool tissue engineering that involves taking a healthy tissue sample, growing it, and and then reintroduced to their body to replace the unhealthy tissue. they also do something similar with immunotherapy treatments, engineering more of people’s own T cells,” he stops himself and glances at kenma. 

“was that too much information?”

kenma shakes his head. “you know a lot about this,” he remarks.

“yeah, I got into it because I wanted to know more about what they did all the time,” kuroo looks vaguely pained for a second, “and I discovered I didn’t have much interest in the business side, but the biology and chemistry is _so_ cool.”

he notices the faint traces of surprise in kenma’s expression and snorts. “I know. no one thinks I know my shit ‘till they take a science class with me.”

“is that what you want to do?” kenma tilts his head, hair falling away from his face. “at university?”

“yeah! I plan on majoring in biomedical engineering.” kuroo pauses, and seems to realize this conversation has been focused entirely on him. “do you know what _you_ want to do? I know it’s a year early, but.” he shrugs. 

kenma considers for a second, then replies, “math is alright, I like game theory. econ and business seem fine. they’re a bit like strategy games, but in real life.”

kuroo’s eyes are wide. “man, my parents would _love_ you. I bet you’d make a great ceo or stock trader.” 

“I’d rather be a professional gamer,” kenma tells him. 

“oh? you like gaming?” kuroo perks up. 

“yeah,” kenma responds a bit self-consciously, “that’s most of what I do.”

“what’s your favorite game?” 

while a natural follow-up question, this throws kenma for a complete loop. he steeples his fingers in front of his face and squints as he tries to figure out how to even _begin_ to answer this question. favorite. _favorite_. 

he scrunches his brow. could kuroo have at least narrowed it by genre? or franchise? 

favorite _… game?_

“don’t overheat thinking about it.” kuroo teases. “you said you like strategy games? do you have a favorite one of those?”

“civ v,” kenma says immediately. “it’s fantastic.” he thinks dreamily about the game design for a second, and then adds, “the soundtrack is really good too.”

kuroo hums in acknowledgment, seemingly interested. “so that’s what you’re up to on weekends? gaming?”

“and during the week.” kenma says, a bit rueful. “it’s…bad for my sleep schedule.” he frowns slightly. “when I can’t sleep, I game. if it’s a good game, I’ll stay up even if I _can_ sleep. if I haven’t been sleeping well, I’ll fall asleep after dinner and wake up at 2am, and then play till morning.”

“sleep is hard,” kuroo grimaces in solidarity. neither of them point out that they sleep perfectly well together, but it hangs unsaid between them. this is the most kuroo’s ever heard kenma talk, and it give him an idea.

“what do you do?” kenma shifts in his chair so he’s facing kuroo. “on weekends.”

“actually work, mainly. go for runs. hang out with bokuto. yaku comes over to study chem sometimes, and there are a few other people I tutor.” kuroo stretches, cracking his neck. “try to sleep. and most sundays I eat dinner with my parents.” he concludes tepidly

“you don’t like the dinners?” kenma prods.

“meh. my parents can be difficult.” he glances away, and switches the subject. “do you want to play something now?”

“what do you have?” kenma is already standing up.

kuroo rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. “i don’t actually know.”

“show me,” he demands.

kuroo laughs at his uncharacteristic eagerness. “your wish is my command.”

he leads kenma down a wide hall to a room that seems to be a cross between an entertainment center and a home movie theater. there’s a huge flatscreen tv with a big, squashy couch in front of it, multiple controllers and consoles, and a bookshelf _filled_ with games and movies spanning a wide time range of release dates. 

“I don’t really play any of these, so pick something simple. spare me some dignity and pride.”

“you don’t have any to spare,” kenma mutters, perusing the games. there are so _many_ of them. he shakes his head in disbelief. he can’t believe the kuroo doesn’t use these games. it’s such a waste he could cry.“why do you _have_ this if you don’t play?” 

“pretenses? my parents compensating for never being around?” kuroo shrugs. “probably figured i would want video games because they never bothered to figure out what i actually like.”

kenma picks up virtua fighter. what a throwback. 

“I played this when I was a kid,” he says, showing it to kuroo.

“let’s try that, then.” kuroo suggests. “if you could play it as a kid, surely I can play it now.”

——

kuroo cannot play it now.

“wow, you suck at this.” kenma observes. the game itself isn’t that entertaining, but kuroo’s reactions certainly are. 

“why are you so _good?”_ he whines after losing, burying his head in kenma’s shoulder. his breath tickles against kenma’s neck, and kenma shivers.

“practice. try harder,” he tells kuroo ruthlessly, keeping his tone bored. 

then kuroo manages to punch _himself_ out of the ring. kenma snickers.

_“_ don’t laugh at that! i’m struggling here.” he mashes some more buttons and completely misses kenma’s character. 

after kuroo loses for the fifth time in a row, he gets a menacing gleam in his eye. 

“you may have thrown me out of the ring but in real life i can do this—”

he grabs kenma and hoists him up and runs out of the room, laughing madly. kenma twists in his arms and involuntarily yelps, then rag dolls so he’s limp, shifting his center of mass. kuroo almost drops him, but he catches kenma last minute, hefting him up like a sack of flour under his arm. 

kenma smacks his back. “ku _roo_. no _!_ ” 

they fall to the floor in a heap, kuroo sprawled on top of him still cackling. kenma can feel the vibrations of kuroo’s laugh in his chest.

kenma tries to shove at him, with no success—kuroo is clearly enjoying being difficult. 

“ _kuroo_ ,” there is a note of warning in kenma’s voice. ‘get _off_.’

“mmghghh.” kuroo doesn’t move, face in the carpet next to kenma’s head. 

he’s really asking for it now. kenma reaches for a fistful of kuroo’s hair, then yanks. hard _._

“ow ow ow!” kuroo wails, and rolls off kenma to clutch his head. 

they lay there, face up on the carpet, panting slightly. staring up at the ceiling, kenma catches his breath. he’s never been manhandled like that before. kuroo needed to learn his lesson—you can’t just _pick people up_.

“kinda strange we’re friends and i don’t have your number,’ kuroo comments a minute later, studiously nonchalant. 

kenma huffs. “if your friendship entails picking me up because you’re a sore loser, I don’t want it.”

“noooohohoho, i won’t do it again.” kuroo cries, laughing. he’s also definitely lying. kenma trusts him as far as he can throw him, and kenma can’t even pick him up. “please, kenma the almighty gamer god, may your lowly subject be granted the honor of your number so i might text you.” 

“i don’t have a phone.” kenma lies baldly. he likes obsequious kuroo.

“that’s a lie!” kuroo props himself up on his side and points at kenma accusatorially. “you literally used my charger the other night! you were on it this morning!”

kenma lets out a small laugh. indignant kuroo is also good.

“pleaaaase,” kuroo pleads. “i won’t pick you up again unless you want me to, i pinky promise.”

he actually holds out his pinky and crooks it, like he’s in elementary school. kenma rolls his eyes, but reaches out and hooks his own pinky through it, and they shake. 

“fine.” he’s probably tortured kuroo enough.

kuroo hands kenma his phone and kenma enters his number in a new contact slot, entering his name as simply ‘kenma’.  when he checks the time at the top of the screen, he sees that it’s already 12:51.

“I should go,” he informs kuroo, handing him back his phone and standing up. “I told my mom i’d be home by one.”

“okay,” kuroo sighs reluctantly. he accompanies kenma back upstairs to grab his shoes and sweater, and then walks him to the door. they stand there for a second.

“thanks for breakfast,” kenma says, shifting awkwardly. he’s not sure how to say goodbye to kuroo. he’s never had to before.

“anytime,” kuroo tells him. it seems he doesn’t know what to say either. then he brightens. “I’ll text you!”

kenma nods, giving a little wave goodbye, and heads back home.

true to his word, kuroo texts him about everything under the sun. kenma keeps having to restart levels because he gets distracted by the notifications at the top of his screen.  he could mute kuroo, he supposes. instead he switches to a console, only slightly less distracted by the vibrations of his phone at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone accuses me of being mean to kuroo i will redirect them to this chapter, in which he's living his dream. kenma, baby, kuroo's "normal flirtatious thing" is because he's normally flirting with you. 
> 
> haha... what if .... kenma was a ceo stock trader youtuber pro gamer? furudate take notes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a detailed description of a panic/anxiety attack. if you think this might be triggering for you, please skip it!   
> start: "his stomach is roiling...” + end: “by the time kuroo comes back, kenma has managed to calm himself down...”

when kenma enters kuroo’s house for the next party, the first thing he notices is kuroo. 

this is normal. 

what’s new is that _kuroo_ spots him immediately as well, his face lighting up as he catches a glimpse of kenma’s half-dyed hair. he must have been keeping an eye out after last time. 

at kuroo’s request, kenma had texted him before he came over, but he doesn’t know if kuroo checks his phone regularly at parties. he watches as kuroo excuses himself from the circle of people and makes his way over. kenma shifts uncomfortably. it’s too much, the crowd around him. he wants to see kuroo but he’s really not feeling this tonight. 

“kenmaaaa!” kuroo opens his arms to embrace kenma. he smells a little like sweat, a little like his deodorant. “the mitochondria might be the powerhouse of the cell, but you are the powerhouse of my _soul_.”

kenma tries to relax into the hug but finds he’s too on edge. he endures it for a second, then realizes what kuroo just said. _ugh_. 

“you’re embarrassing, kuroo,” he mutters, and disengages from the hug. 

“what’s that, o apple of my eye?” kuroo leers exaggeratedly at kenma.

kenma frowns. he knows kuroo’s idea of being playful is pushing kenma’s buttons for fun, but kenma isn’t in the mood for it right now. someone jostles him from behind, and he uses that unsteadiness as an opportunity to stomp on kuroo’s foot. it’s plausibly an accident. 

“ow!” kuroo hops up and down. kenma hopes it actually hurt, but he’s guessing it doesn’t. he’s not _that_ heavy. “okay, okay. no to nicknames. got it. what can i get you to drink?” 

kenma thinks for a second. he doesn’t want a drink, he feels a little sick. but maybe kuroo leaving for a second will give him the space to collect himself. _“_ water?” 

kuroo pulls a face. “boring. i should probably have some too. you want ice?”

he shakes his head, and kuroo heads to the kitchen. 

kenma finds his anxiety only spikes higher in kuroo’s absence. he hates this. the press of the people around him is making his hackles rise. 

_am i going to keep doing this for the rest of the year? with no respite? this is exhausting._

he likes kuroo’s bed, but more than that—he likes sleeping with kuroo. and he _can_ come and immediately head upstairs, but what if kuroo wants him to hang out with his friends? last time he sat in the corner for four minutes and left, but kuroo was sad. and even if he finds the literal minimum he has to be here, the pretense hangs heavy over him. they only somewhat discussed this last time, but not really—just that kuroo wants him to stay. which is good. 

_ugh._ is this how it’s going to go? he “attends” parties and sleeps with kuroo and they wake up and then he leaves and they don’t talk in person for the rest of the week until the next party? 

the thought crosses his mind that this could just be because kuroo hates being alone after parties. that he doesn’t really care for _kenma_ , but more what kenma represents. someone—anyone—there for him, when no one else is. 

sure, kuroo has been texting him all this past week, but it’s been pretty random stuff. and he hasn’t been responding consistently because he doesn’t really know what to say. kuroo hasn’t mentioned anything about spending time together _not_ via one of his parties, and kenma doesn’t want to just hang out anyway—he wants to do what they’ve been doing. 

it’s different from the time he spends with shouyou, but he _likes_ that. he _wants_ the closeness and the intimacy that comes so easy late at night and early in the morning, his body and kuroo’s only separated by clothes and skin. and kenma wants _more_ of it, but the thought of trying to voice that sends pangs of panic through him. 

his stomach is roiling. a hot flash washes over him, and now he’s overheated, the air around him too still and stuffy and oppressive. he _hates_ this _._

the more he sinks into the discomfort of these thoughts, the louder the noise of the crowd around him seems to become. or perhaps kenma gets increasingly sensitive. it won’t be the first time he’s gotten overstimulated. 

he focuses on his breathing, but that’s not enough to ground him right now. he wants to bolt. but he makes himself stand his ground. _just until kuroo gets back_. he thinks. _then i can take the water, and he’ll go back to his friends, and then i can leave_. _it’s going to be fine._

as he waits for kuroo navigate back through the crowd with his glass of water, he doesn’t feel the urge to get away decrease. if anything, it grows. it’s all too much. 

kenma isn’t going to make it.

kuroo hands kenma a glass of water and might be saying something, but kenma is busy trying to pretend he’s not 200% overwhelmed right now. his chest hurts, and he’s lost any ability to pick through audio input—it’s all the roar and the crowd and the music and he’s hyper-focused on what the person behind him is saying but nothing kuroo says sticks in his head. 

he’s not even thinking of anything in particular right now, his unease boiling over into a single urge—

he has to go. 

——

kuroo hums along with the music as he fills up a cup of water for kenma. he’s so _happy_ kenma’s here. he can’t explain it. he just likes him. a lot. he likes his face he likes his hair he likes the times when kenma gets fed up at him he likes the way he scrunches his nose when kuroo says something too ridiculous he likes the way he listens late at night he likes holding him he likes the way his eyes gleam he likes —

someone slaps his shoulder. “got more orange juice?”

he turns around to see bokuto. 

“for you bro? always.” kuroo sets down the water, grabs the juice carton from the fridge and presents it to bokuto with a flourish. “fresh squeezed for my main squeeze!”

“isn’t your main squeeze kozume?” bokuto pours himself some orange juice and adds a generous splash of vodka. he looks back up and laughs at kuroo’s pained expression. “ _talk_ to him, bro.”

“shut up,” kuroo retorts lamely. “I _do_ talk to him. I was just talking to him!”

bokuto just pats him on the back and leaves. how annoying. bokuto’s not supposed to have his shit together. kuroo flips off bokuto’s back, then grabs the cups of water to bring back to kenma. 

when he gets back, kenma seems out of it. he looks a little pale. kuroo wonders if he’s been sleeping poorly—the occasional responses he’s gotten to his messages have come through at all hours of the night. not that kuroo has a great sleep schedule, but it’s easier to worry about someone else’s problems. 

kenma also isn’t drinking his water. 

“do you want something else?” kuroo queries, gesturing at his cup. kenma doesn’t indicate he’s heard kuroo at all. 

all of a sudden kenma darts off, faster than kuroo’s ever seen him move before, ducking through the crowded room.

“kenma?” kuroo calls after him. his voice is swallowed by the music and people around him. over the rest of the crowd, he spots kenma fleeing up the stairs. 

_fuck._ kuroo has no idea what’s going on with kenma, but something is clearly wrong. is he going to be sick? kuroo follows after him, taking the stairs two at a time. 

when kuroo enters his room, the lights are out and kenma is in corner, back against the edge of the two walls, knees pulled tight to his chest. 

kuroo crouches down in front of him, frantically trying to figure out what’s going on. “are you okay? are you sick? is there something i can do?” 

kenma doesn’t answer, so kuroo continues, “do you want space? should i leave you alone?”

——

kenma reaches for kuroo’s shirt and tugs, hard, to shut him up. he can’t deal with kuroo panicking about him panicking while panicking. kenma has literally never been so embarrassed before in his life. or he would be embarrassed, if he had the bandwidth to pick out feelings other than _overloaded_. this is awful. 

kuroo takes the hint. he stills. “do you want me to stay?”

kenma doesn’t respond for a little bit, then nods. he thinks so. 

kuroo moves so he’s sitting next to kenma, back to the wall. 

still clutching his knees to his chest, kenma shifts so his face is pressed against kuroo’s arm. 

kuroo isn’t sure how to interpret this, so he checks. “can I touch you?” 

kenma nods, cheek rubbing against kuroo’s skin. he doesn’t relax from his ball, but he lets kuroo put an arm around him, and tilts so he’s laying against kuroo’s side. 

he isn’t talking because he’s religiously counting his breaths, and anytime he tries to form words, they gets sucked into the vortex of fragmented thoughts spinning through his brain. 

they stay like that, kenma balled up, focusing on breathing, and kuroo threading his hand through kenma’s hair.

from where he is, kenma can see kuroo’s schoolbag next to his desk. he can see the maroon of kuroo’s pants. he can see the grain of the wood floor. he can the thick blanket on kuroo’s bed. he can see the door. 

kenma can feel the woven fabric of kuroo’s shirt on his face, and the weight of kuroo’s arm on his shoulders, the drag of kuroo’s blunt nails against his scalp, the solid wood of the floor underneath him. 

kenma can hear the music coming from downstairs, and people’s muffled voices, and kuroo’s breathing, a little fast but otherwise steady.

kenma can smell kuroo’s now-familiar scent, and maybe some hand soap?

kenma brushed his teeth before he came, but his mouth is no longer sharply minty. it’s dry, and there’s a bitter taste in it he always associates with his anxiety. he breathes in through his nose, and out through his mouth.

he doesn’t know how much time has passed when kuroo fishes his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and checks it.

“will you be okay if I leave for a sec?” he asks kenma, looking conflicted. “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll be checking my phone. text me if you need me.”

kenma nods. he’ll be fine. 

“I’m just going to say bye to a few people and go tell bo he’s in charge for the rest of the night. he never checks his phone at parties.” kuroo disengages from kenma, gives his head one last pet, and makes his way downstairs. 

——

by the time kuroo comes back, kenma has managed to calm himself down enough that talking seems feasible. honestly usually he has a better grasp of his anxiety. he went to therapy. he knows how to mitigate it in his daily life. but these are extenuating circumstances.

“hey,” kuroo greets softly when he lets himself into the room. “how’re you doing?”

“fine,” kenma says. which is more or less true. 

“can I ask what was going on?” kuroo asks tentatively. 

“I have anxiety,” kenma tells him, resolutely not looking at kuroo. he studies the molded plaster around the edge of the ceiling. “being around lots of people makes it worse.”

he can’t see what expression kuroo is making, but his tone is unbearably gentle. “i’m sorry kenma, i know i ask you to come to these parties. and I knew they weren’t _totally_ your scene, but i didn’t realize this makes you anxious.” he pauses, searching for words. “we could have hung out like normal friends. do. uh, normally.”

_but I like_ this, kenma thinks desperately, _even if i don’t know how to ask for it. i don’t think this is a normal friends thing._

it’s not like kuroo _made_ him do anything. but this isn’t the same as the time kenma spends with shouyou, and the only way kenma knows to get _this,_ which he’s pretty sure is different from friendship, is by coming to kuroo’s parties. so he does. 

some of this uncertainty must have shown in his expression, because kuroo reaches out to cup his face, meeting his gaze with concern. it’s so tender it _hurts_. “you know we’re friends, right? I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

kenma bites his lip, and gives a tiny nod. kuroo is off base, but he means well. and now kenma’s feeling so _sad_ all of a sudden. and embarrassed. and wanting. 

_i just want_ this _._ he thinks to himself again. the back of his throat feels tight, as does something in his chest. he swallows. his whole body is still tense.

“Is there anything i can do for you right now?” kuroo asks, hand still holding kenma’s face. his thumb strokes along kenma’s cheekbone, and he tucks kenma’s hair behind his ear before pulling away. 

“can you.” kenma takes a breath, and then tries again. this is mortifying, but his therapist would be proud of him for asking for what he needs. “can you lay. on me. I used to have a weighted blanket, but—” _that’s not an option here_ , he finishes in his mind. 

the weighted blanket had taken the edge off the worst of his flight instincts, and helped him relax after more serious bouts of anxiety that left him tense and on edge. the weight had been grounding. physical contact with kuroo has been grounding. he’s not sure this will help the same way, but he thinks it’s worth it to try.

“oh. yeah. yeah! uhhh, here? wanna move to the bed?” kuroo is hovering around kenma, and for a second it looks like he’s considering picking kenma up and physically carrying him over to the bed. 

kenma gets up before kuroo can try, and stumbles slightly. his legs are a bit unsteady. kuroo immediately reaches out to help stabilize him. 

“'m okay,” kenma mumbles. 

they settle down on the bed, kenma laying on his back in the center, kuroo partially top of him, heavy and solid. kuroo’s head is right next to his, and it’s turned slightly towards him so kuroo can breathe instead of suffocating on a mouthful of pillow. he can feel the warm wash of kuroo’s breath against the side of his face every time kuroo exhales. kenma is hyperaware of the extent of the contact—this is closer than he’s been with anyone before in his life.

“should I talk? I’ve been told I can be quite distracting,” kuroo offers. “or I could be quiet. I’m good at that too."

“talk?” kenma thinks a distraction might be nice. he could focus on kuroo’s words instead of his own thoughts, or how this isn’t really working like a weighted blanket would. 

kuroo launches into a story involving him and bokuto and—kenma isn’t paying attention. 

he feels a little less like his mind is going to fly to pieces, but doesn’t actually feel much better because now his heart is beating fast for a different reason. it feels a lot like anxiety, but it’s tied solely to his proximity to kuroo. he can’t focus on a word kuroo is saying, and as he lays there, adrenaline rushing through him, he thinks about how much trouble he’s gotten himself into.

it’s not that he wants kuroo to leave. and maybe that’s the issue. _wanting_ someone around, and wanting them this _much_ , is foreign to him. for almost the entirety of his life he’s been happy to exist on his own, doing regular structured activities in his own time. 

kenma thinks, half nauseous, that he shouldn’t be able to be this elated and this unsettled by someone and still want them around. still find _comfort_ in having them there, despite the rest of it. it’s fucked up. a regular set of contradictions. 

he lays there under the weight of kuroo’s body and hopes that everything settles in time. he’s heard the phrase ‘miserably in love,’ and it’s always seemed dramatic to him. he still thinks it is dramatic, and he doesn’t know kuroo well enough for this to be love _._

_but_ , he thinks, _this isn’t friendship. and it’s just a little miserable._

“and that’s how we found out you should never microwave an orange.” kuroo concludes his anecdote, then asks, “is this still good?”

kenma takes a few deep breaths. his heart is still beating too fast, and he’s way too warm. “can you get off for a second?”

kuroo scrambles off immediately. kenma thinks kuroo would probably do anything he asked right now, and this makes a corner of kenma’s mind viscerally pleased. 

kenma pulls his hoodie off over his head and and wipes his face—he’s sweating. he gets up to get a drink of water from the bathroom, and washes his face with cold water while he’s there. by the time he’s through, he’s a much better temperature, and his heart has slowed down to a normal rate. 

when he comes back to the bed, kuroo is lying off to the side, waiting for permission to approach him again. 

“c’mere,” kenma tells him, and kuroo drapes himself on kenma, less directly on top of him than before. this time kenma’s more prepared for the contact, and he stays calm, his heartbeat steady. 

both of them are quiet.

on regular intervals he can feel kuroo’s chest swelling against his own, and then sinking as kuroo breathes out. he tries to synch up his inhales and exhales with kuroo’s, but his breaths fall out of time as his mind drifts. at some point down the line they fall asleep like that, kuroo laying partially over kenma like a human blanket, face smushed in the crook of kenma’s neck, and kenma under him, grounded by his solid weight. 

——

kenma comes to feeling like he’s been put through the washing machine, down to feeling slightly damp, which he finds disgusting. he is also physically discomforted—the arm kuroo is on top of is so asleep he can barely feel it.

there’s no more noise coming from downstairs, so he assumes it’s sometimes after 2 and the party is over. 

he doesn’t even know what _caused_ that anxiety spike. his own…feelings…and the crowd? everything was just. too much. his anxiety hadn’t gotten that bad in _years_. and with kuroo there—it’s awful to have someone look and worry and wonder when you’re so far from being able to choose what you show them. 

he tries to push himself up off of the bed, but kuroo is too heavy for him to move—he must have also fallen asleep.

“kuroo,” kenma reaches up with his free arm and presses on the flat of kuroo’s shoulder blade. 

“mmmghf?” kuroo stirs, and then realizes he is still on top of kenma. “hey,” he says softly. 

“can I shower?”

“mmmm. yeah.”

“you have to get off me first.” kenma tells him. 

“yeaaaaah.” kuroo drags out the word, somewhat reluctant, but rolls off of kenma. 

kenma feels the loss of his body heat immediately—where kuroo has been covering is now cold. his lips pull down involuntarily in displeasure. the blood flowing back into his arm has it feeling like it’s been filled with static. 

“you know where the shower is. you can use anything in there. there are extra towels on the rack.” kuroo yawns. his voice is clogged with sleep. “I’ll get you some fresh clothes.”

in the bathroom kenma fishes out an elastic from his pocket and ties his hair back best he can, then strips, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. the shower is spacious—it’s built in, taking up one end of the room, with grey stone walls and a glass door instead of a curtain. he observes not one but three jets, one above, two on the side. there are also three dials. kenma clicks his tongue. _rich people_. 

he can figure this out. 

one seems to be temperature control, based on the numbers around it. he doesn’t know what temperature he likes, specifically, but turns it to 90 to start. the other ones, he’s unsure about—maybe one for the side jets, one for the one above? he tests the top handle, keeping to the side so he’s out of the way of the flow of the water. he doesn’t want to get his hair wet, nor does he want the water to touch him before it warms up. 

it turns out that one controls the top shower head, and water falls down like rain from the ceiling. nice, but kenma is too short to be able to avoid that. he turns it off, and switches on the second handle, which produces streams of water from the nozzles set in the wall at about chest height. 

stepping into the shower fully, he shuts the door and lets the water heat up as he examines the assorted products on a shelf cut into the wall. shampoo and _conditioner_ , surprisingly, some face wash, and shower gel. kuroo’s hair always looks so hopeless kenma had assumed he just shampoo’d it with a 3-in-1 combo and called it a day. 

now kenma wonders if it’s actually soft. he’s tempted to find an excuse to run his fingers through it and find out. 

kenma tests the water temperature, decides to turn it up slightly higher, and steps into the pressurized stream. he ducks slightly so he can stand with the water spraying directly on his face, then lathers it with the face wash. it’s almost minty but not quite, some cool-feeling scent he can’t quite place. 

the room is steaming up and condensation is forming on the glass door. kenma finds himself relaxing. tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying leaving his shoulders. the hot water warms him to the core, chill dampness of minutes before all but forgotten. 

he takes a couple pumps of the shower gel, and the familiar, refreshing scent permeates the shower around him as he washes himself. it’s like a two-in-one shower and aromatherapy. his head feels clearer than it has all night.

when he’s rinsed all the soap suds from his body, he shuts off the water, and steps out onto the bath mat, wiping water from his eyes and grabbing one of the towels folded on the rack. he dries himself off, then wraps himself in the towel, which is both plusher and larger than any he’s ever used before. 

gathering up his clothes from where they’re puddled on the bathroom floor, kenma opens the bathroom door, humid heat from the shower clouding out into the room. a drop of water rolls down the nape of his neck. he shivers as he’s hit with a burst of cooler, drier air.

kuroo looks up from where he’s sitting on the bed, phone in hand. “good shower?”

“mmhm. thanks.” kenma yawns.

“i put out a pair of clean boxers for you if you want.” kuroo gestures to the article of clothing in question on the bed, “though they might be … big? and i have a bunch of shirts you can pick from to sleep in.”

kuroo stands and beckons kenma over to show him the closet. it’s half hanging storage, half shelving. kenma sees more than one suit, as well as other formal clothes he can’t picture kuroo ever wearing.

“you can take whatever you want from here. you’ll probably like the t-shirts on middle shelf best,” he gestures at the shelf in question. “I’ll be in the bathroom brushing my teeth.” he finishes, then leaves so kenma can change. 

kenma puts on the offered boxers. he doesn’t care. they _are_ loose, but not terribly so—elastic waistbands work wonders. 

he peruses the t-shirts, running his hands over them to find whatever is softest. part of him wonders idly if kuroo is actually this organized, or if someone cleans for him. he finds a texture he likes and pulls it out from its neat stack. the shirt is a faded pale blue, proclaiming the name of some resort town. 

he checks to make sure kuroo is still in the bathroom before he raises the shirt to his face to sniff it. it smells like detergent and kuroo. he presses his nose the inside of his wrist. _kenma_ smells like kuroo, after using his body wash. it makes him feel warm inside _._

kenma lets out a contented sigh. he’s tired, and he’s calm enough that he’s _sleepy_ now, no longer exhausted-but-wired. he pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric downy against his skin. it’s so large on him that only the edges of the boxers peek out beneath it. 

he heads into the bathroom. kuroo is gargling mouthwash. he waits for him to spit it out before asking, “do you have the toothbrush i used last time?”

kuroo startles a bit when he turns to look at kenma, even though kenma is pretty sure he heard the door open. “yeah, here.” 

pulling open a drawer to the left of the sink, kuroo hands the toothbrush to kenma, who takes satisfaction in the fact that kuroo kept it on hand. once kenma brushes his teeth, he is _really_ ready to sleep. he tugs on kuroo’s shirt. 

“‘m tired.” he tries to keep a whine out of his voice, but it might creep in slightly. it’s been a long night. 

kuroo rubs kenma’s back comfortingly. “i’m going to shower too, but I’ll be quiet. you can go back to sleep.”

“mmmm.” kenma acknowledges, and shuffles out of the bathroom to the bed. moving his legs is a lot of work. he wanted kuroo to come to bed _with_ him, but that’s fine. 

kenma is drifting in and out but he wakes up when the mattress dips under him, signaling kuroo’s return. letting out a small pleased noise, he sleepily crawls up so he’s curled into kuroo’s side. 

kuroo freezes for a moment, then wraps an arm around kenma so he can cuddle closer if he wants. and kenma wants to be as close to kuroo as physically possible. he hooks a leg over kuroo’s hip and shifts so he’s half on top of kuroo, their positions reversed from earlier. their legs tangle together. he rests his head on kuroo’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of it with each breath kuroo takes.

_creature comforts,_ he thinks. he won’t deny himself this. and so he falls asleep like that, entwined with kuroo, smelling like kuroo’s soap, in kuroo’s clothes, in kuroo’s bed. 

——

in the morning when kenma wakes, he feels both better and worse. he’s developing a headache, though it might be he just needs to hydrate. hopefully. but his anxiety levels are much lower.

kuroo is still asleep. kenma lays there for a minute or two, hazy from having just woken up, but he soon becomes antsy. his nose itches. one of his arms is a little cramped. he wriggles a bit, trying to find the most comfortable spot on kuroo. 

he rubs his face into the side of kuroo’s neck. he kind of hopes it wakes kuroo up, but kuroo doesn’t move.

kenma wants to go back to sleep. he wishes he could sleep on command, but he’s up for good now. he’s still _tired_ , though. it’s not so much sleepy—he feels wrung out, which makes sense, because his body and his mind were both put through the wringer last night. 

he also wishes he could go back in time and _not_ have an anxiety attack in front of kuroo, but he refuses to think too deeply about that right now and trigger more anxiety. this could be a perfectly fine morning, and kuroo had been so _good_ about it all. the biggest challenge here will be managing his own embarrassment. 

shifting his weight to the leg not caught between kuroo’s, he extracts himself from kuroo's arms, then makes his way downstairs. 

he’s immediately struck by what a disaster zone it is. he has new respect for kuroo—bokuto may have indeed kept an eye on things, but he left them the way they were at the end of the night. 

kenma takes a solo cup and pours himself some juice—from the fridge, not one of the mixers left out. he thinks the sugar might be good for him, because he’s still feeling a bit fuzzy. when he finishes drinking that, he re-fills the cup with cold water from the fridge door. 

sipping this slowly, kenma wanders around first floor of the house. there is a grand living room, a formal study, the room they played the games in, and the main room and kitchen and stairwell, which he’d already seen. another sitting room. a dining room, a library, and a sun room. he opens doors to find various closets and pantries, and more bathroom than he feels a house needs. and everywhere he goes, huge glass window.

very few of the windows are curtained, and even those that are only have the most gauzy white fabric covering them. the morning light shines through undimmed. he peers out into the backyard. the green grass is neatly manicured, and there are some freshly trimmed topiaries arranged around a stone patio with a long table and chairs for outdoor dining. there’s also small rectangular pool he didn’t know was there, with delicate streams of water arcing in from the sides. 

he wonders if anyone ever uses it. kuroo seems to keep people inside, but maybe when it gets hotter? kenma thinks personally he wouldn’t want to risk drunk people around a pool. people are _dumb,_ even when they’re sober. 

there’s something oddly personal about this early morning wandering—of poking around the place where kuroo grew up, with no one there to guide him, just his own curiosity.

but at the same time, the house really _is_ huge, and rings impersonal in its grandness—he sees a few formal picture of the family, but that’s all there is to indicate anything about the people that live there. there are very few touches of life. it looks like it belongs in an architectural digest. there is a sense of static, of sterility. the silence that says do not disturb. 

kenma thinks he’s done being nosy downstairs and wants to see if kuroo is up yet, but first he has to pee. he lets himself into one of the bathrooms he found in the course of his exploration. when he’s finished, he takes perverse pleasure in using the finely moulded decorative soap and drying his hands on the neatly folded decorative towel. 

a little disruption, as a treat. 

when he comes back upstairs, kuroo’s still asleep. kenma tries to slip back into the bed with his phone, and wants his spot back—he was comfortable!—but kuroo has shifted over a bit so he’s no longer sleeping on his back, but his side. 

kenma lifts one of kuroo’s arms and squirms underneath it. kuroo makes a slight noise in his sleep and unconsciously pulls him in closer. silently scrolling through his phone, kenma stays nestled there with kuroo spooned around him until kuroo wakes up. 

he feels a shift in kuroo’s breathing.

“morning,” kenma greets quietly. he puts down his phone. 

“g’morning,” kuroo rasps, then clears his throat. “how’re you feeling?”

“fine.”

“yeah?” kuroo gives him a squeeze. “fiiiiiiine?”

knowing kuroo can’t see him, kenma rolls his eyes. “ _fiiiiine_.”

“good.” a yawn makes its way out of kuroo, and he lets go of kenma to stretch his hands above his head, arching and twisting his spine. there are a few cracks generated by this movement, and kenma hides a wince. if kuroo found out how much kenma _hated_ that sound, he’s sure kuroo would use it against him till the end of time.

“what time is it?” kuroo asks, yawning again.

picking up his phone again, kenma checks the time. “11:35.”

“you got anywhere to be? wanna make some breakfast?” 

regretfully, kenma knows he really has to leave. “I should go home soon.”

“oh.” kuroo says, voice tempered. “okay.”

“do you want to walk back with me?” kenma finds himself offering. he doesn’t like that tone of voice from kuroo. “it’s not far.”

kuroo turns to look at him eagerly. “yeah! give me a second.” he slides off the bed and puts on some pants, and then disappears into the bathroom. 

kenma sends a text to his mom that he’ll be home soon, and then hears the toilet flush and sink faucet turn on. kuroo emerges moments later, letting out another big yawn.

they head down along the walking path in comfortable silence. the sky is slightly overcast. kenma’s in a quiet mood today. he’s glad he doesn’t feel like he has to talk, and he likes the presence of kuroo at his side.

when kenma stops them at his house, kuroo recoils. 

“ _this_ is your house?”

kenma is confused by his reaction. “yes? is there something wrong with it?”

sure, it’s much smaller than kuroo’s, but he can’t be _surprised_ by that, could he? he’s rich, but he’s not that out of touch. 

“uh. no.” kuroo seems flustered. “It’s—closer than i thought.”

“I said it wasn’t far, didn’t I? I _have_ been walking back after your parties.” kenma looks at him strangely. kuroo is so weird. he gets like this sometimes, and kenma is never sure why. 

they stand in silence for a second. kenma is contemplating whether he should invite kuroo in when kuroo speaks up. “i’ll see you around, yeah? and. uh. text me if you need anything.”

kenma nods. they stand there for another beat, unsure how to say goodbye. it seems like there’s something else kuroo might want to say, but he just pulls kenma into a quick, tight hug. 

“bye,” kuroo whispers into the top of kenma’s head, then lets him go.

“bye,” kenma echoes, hands falling to his sides. he watches as kuroo head back to his house before letting himself into his own home. 

and as he shuts the door behind him, it occurs to kenma that he is once again still wearing kuroo’s clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “we could have hung out like normal friends. do. uh, normally.” wow that's _so_ convincing, tell me all about what "normal friends" you are
> 
> for panic/anxiety attacks: give the person space, help them get to a quiet/safe place, stay calm, ask before doing anything or touching them. kenma uses the 5-4-3-2-1 method to ground himself in this chapter: 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. focusing on simple sensory input grounds you in the present moment and can help you break away from the cycle of anxious thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

this week there is no party. kuroo’s parents come back in town thursday night. 

kuroo mentions this to him on wednesday at the end of the school day. he seems…unenthused, for lack of a better word. he also returns the clothes kenma had left at kuroo’s house, washed and folded neatly in a bag.

kenma hadn’t planned on giving back kuroo’s clothes but he supposes he should. they’re in his laundry pile waiting to be washed. he may have worn the t-shirt to bed for another night. or two. or three. and he might be sleeping in the other shirt kuroo gave him.

kuroo’s shirts are nice, sue him. 

on friday when school lets out, kenma looks for kuroo but doesn’t find him. he’s not sure what he wants to say—he knows they can’t hang out, because kuroo will be busy with his family, but he wants to _see_ him. and kenma is just a little worried, because he hasn’t heard anything from kuroo since thursday morning. this is the longest kuroo’s gone without talking to him since he gave kuroo his number. 

——

later that night, when he’s settled down in bed, his phone vibrates, signaling an incoming message. his traitorous heart clenches. it’s probably shouyou, he tells himself. 

but when he checks, it _is_ from kuroo.

< kuro 

can i come over?

10:48pm

kenma doesn’t have to think before he answers.

> kuro

yeah

10.48pm

kuroo walked him home the other night, but kenma doesn’t know how good his sense of direction is. just in case,

> kuro

[pin dropped]

10:49 pm 

< kuro

here

11:00 pm

kenma pads downstairs to let him in. upon opening the door, it takes him a moment to realize who he’s looking at. 

kuroo’s signature bedhead is neatly coiffed. he’s wearing a button down and slacks, and he looks. exhausted. his eyes are lowered. but his body is also screaming tension, from the set of his shoulders to the clench of his jaw.

“hey.” his attempt at a smile makes kenma grimace reflexively. 

kenma wordlessly steps aside to let kuroo in, then re-locks the door after him. when kenma turns around, kuroo is right there behind him. 

“can I—” kuroo starts, stoped when kenma holds up a finger and grabs him by the arm, guiding him up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

“sorry,” kenma tells him, shutting the bedroom door with a soft snick. “my parents are asleep.”

kuroo looks away from him for a second, fisting his hand in his hair. sections have fallen out of the no-longer-so-neatly-combed coif. “okay.”

there is no seating in kenma’s room. he'll study downstairs at the kitchen table or on the floor, if at all, and usually at terrible hours. the room itself is pretty small. his bed is pushed into a corner.

“here,” kenma brings kuroo to the bed, settling himself near the head of the bed with his back against the wall. kuroo sits next to him, long legs loosely folded in front of him. kenma offers him a pillow for his back. kuroo takes it, then decides to shift so he’s laying down lengthwise in bed, his head in kenma’s lap, pillow clutched to his chest. 

kenma’s skin prickles at the contact, and the smell of kuroo’s cologne, which is new. this whole look is strange—it’s not a way kenma has ever seen kuroo before. but based on what he’s mentioned to kenma, it makes sense that he has to be a person for his parents he wouldn’t choose to be otherwise. 

kenma supposes it’s not an aesthetically _bad_ look. in fact, if kuroo wasn’t clearly feeling awful, he might say kuroo looked good like this. but kenma never likes seeing kuroo unhappy. 

“you look awful,” he tells kuroo bluntly. they’ve got to stop meeting like this. “dinner was… not good?”

kuroo exhales a laugh. “yeah, been a bit rough. well, dinner itself was good. not a huge fan of steak, but that’s just because it reminds me of _quality time_ with my family.”

kenma hums in wordless acknowledgement.

“so. i told you my parents were back in town.” kuroo starts.

“yeah?” kenma indicates for him to go on. 

kuroo takes a deep breath in, holds it for a second, and sighs it out.

“they want me to go into business. and they finance everything i do, so. if I don’t enroll in a business program, they.” kuroo squeezes his eyes shut and takes another breath. “they told me they won’t pay for my university.”

kenma’s face contort in what he hopes is a good representation of the disgust he’s feeling. kuroo smiles humorlessly in response.

“they just want me to succeed. and they want me to be able to 'build a good life for myself' like they have. apparently ‘everyone knows research doesn’t pay,’ as if that’s what matters.” he rolls his eyes. “they’re such fucking elitists. they use scientific advances daily, and their companies are _built_ on them.”

“and i don’t see what’s so good about the life they have _anyway_. maybe it’s good for them, but if I ever have a kid i sure as hell wouldn’t leave them alone in the house for the better part of the year and call it a ‘good life’.” 

kuroo digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. his voice grows bitter. 

“their values aren’t _my_ values, and i don’t know why they’re surprised by this because it’s not like they spent any significant amount of time around me. they barely _raised_ me _._ one weekend every month or two and polite dinner conversation on sundays does not an indoctrinated child make.” 

“so now,” he hisses his breath out through his teeth, “i guess i’ll go regardless, and just…go into debt? like everyone else.”

“it’s not even the money so much as—I wish they cared. about _me_.” he takes his hands off his eyes and gazes up at kenma, who’s looking down at him with golden eyes, face inscrutable. “sorry i’m dumping this on you.”

“no, it’s okay,” kenma says. he’s not sure what else there is to say. he’s happy to listen to kuroo. it makes him feel _better_ , actively, after he panicked in front of kuroo the weekend before. not that this is quid pro quo, but. he was incredibly grateful for the support. he’s never had anyone be that attentive or accommodating before. 

it may not have worked perfectly, but kuroo did his best for kenma. so kenma will do his best for kuroo. 

“that sounds hard. i’m sorry.” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair away from where it’s fallen over kuroo’s eye. and it really really does. he doesn’t like kuroo’s parents at _all_. he can’t imagine what it would be like if his parents only loved the person they wanted him to be. 

kuroo stares up the ceiling and starts to talk again. “i was alone. so _fucking_ much as a child. i guess i told you about that a bit, but. i’m so _bad_ at it now. it’s like a switch flipped, and once i started surrounding myself with people i can’t stop. ever. i hate it. being alone, i mean. i always did but now i can’t _stand it._ and i get edgier and edgier if people aren’t responding to texts and i’m by myself, until i—well. i usually end up going for runs. it’s like being left alone in a room with a ticking clock, except there’s not clock, there’s just me.” 

all of this comes out in a rush. it sounds like something kuroo’s had pent up inside of him for ages, and he takes a moment to breathe before he continues. 

“i think i might rather be alone than in the house than with them, right now,” he clutches the pillow and turns to press his face into kenma’s stomach for a second, mumbling, “but this is much better than either of those things.” 

rolling so he’s facing up again, kuroo looks out into middle distance. his eyes are vacant, as if he’s seeing something else in place of the room around him. a memory, perhaps.

“you know sometimes, before i knew who lived here, i would see your lights on in the early morning. like 3am? 4am? and it was the only house with lights on when i‘d run down this direction. so sometimes i’d think. what if — what if i just knocked on the door? and i had no idea who you were but sometimes i'd see a silhouette in the living room and i’d think. maybe they’d let me come in and just sit with them because i can’t sit in my house alone any longer.” 

his voice grows tighter and tighter as he confesses this. 

“i would never actually do that. but i started to run past here on purpose sometimes, because it was proof that…i dunno, there was someone else in the world? and as i’m saying this i realize i’m sounding more and more like a stalker. but that’s why i was. _surprised._ when you said this was your house because it felt too much like fate, or something.”

kuroo swallows, steeling himself. 

“because god. _please_ don’t take this in a creepy way. but. i also noticed you before all this? how you’d always be a little off to the side of things but you never seemed lonely. like you didn’t feel that same need to have other people around you. i admired you for being able to be on your own. i would see you all through school and you’d be. content, i guess? like you didn’t need anyone and were happy doing your own thing. and you—ugh, you seemed self-assured?” there is a dark blush developing in his cheeks as he rambles on. “i think you’re pretty cool.” 

they sit there in silence for a second, kenma’s hands twitching a bit as he tries to figure out what to do with them, no phone to fiddle with. he has to work out some of the edginess he feels from the weight of kuroo’s head heavy on his thigh. kuroo’s words have stirred up a strange cocktail happy and shocked and flustered emotions. this…isn't what he was expecting. 

“i wish i had talked to you earlier.” kuroo whispers. “i don’t want to leave so soon.”

“you’re going to university, not dying,” kenma reminds him. “I know how to text.”

“ha, you barely respond to me!” kuroo’s voice is laden with frustration and desperation. he immediately quiets down, remembering kenma’s parents asleep in the other room. “half the time i think i’m bothering you.”

kenma suddenly wonders if he’s been a bad friend. kuroo shouldn’t interpret how he’s been texting as a representation of how much he cares about kuroo. he feels his expression start to crumple. 

“no, i mean—hey, kenma. hey.” kuroo’s tone gentles, but kenma can’t quite manage to look at him. “it’s fine. i’m not upset, i’m just—i’m _sad,_ ” 

this doesn’t make kenma feel any better. he doesn’t want to make kuroo sad _._ his throat aches.

“because now i don’t want to go.” kuroo finishes his thought. “it’s fine right now, because i know i’m going to be able to see you in person. but _ugh._ ” he buries his head in kenma’s stomach again. “I’m going to miss you.”

kenma doesn’t immediately respond, but he tentatively runs his fingers through kuroo’s hair. it’s a bit tacky with whatever sort of mousse he used to tame it. the mental image of kuroo battling his bedhead makes kenma smile, just a little. 

kuroo turns his head so he can meet kenma’s eyes.

“is that weird to say? we haven’t spent that much time together. but i really like. uh.” kuroo pauses. “spending time together.”

“no,” kenma says softly, looking down at him. if kuroo is weird, so is he. “it’s not weird.”

there are worry lines forming in kuroo’s brow. kenma reaches out to smooths the skin there. kuroo closes his eyes and leans his head into the touch, tipping his face toward kenma like a flower towards the sun. taking this as encouragement to continue, kenma lets his hands explore kuroo’s face. he traces a finger along one high cheekbone where it catches the light from his lamp.

he swallows. “and you’re not bothering me.”

it’s the truth. he _wants_ to be around kuroo. in fact, he wants to be around kuroo _all the time_. he finds his thoughts drifting away from whatever he’s supposed be thinking about towards kuroo, like he’s some sort of thought magnet. kuroo makes him feel warm and squirmy in a way he should hate, but doesn’t.

he doesn’t want kuroo to leave, because—“i like being with you.” he says aloud. 

kuroo’s breath halts, air frozen in his lungs. _why did kenma phrase it like that i swear he’s doing this on purpose._

“and,” kenma adds, “I’m sorry your parents are pieces of shit” 

this surprises an honest laugh from kuroo. “you _swear_?! what would your parents say?”

kenma hits him lightly on the head. “don’t be stupid. i’m short, not a _kid_.” he frowns. “we’re practically the same age, not that you act it.”

kuroo is still snickering at kenma’s reaction. kenma is pleased he somehow managed to lighten kuroo’s mood, but kuroo is so annoying. _why_ does kenma like him. 

kenma tells him as much. “you’re so _annoying._ ”

“i’m a goddamn delight.” is kuroo’s self-satisfied response, and he winks up at kenma. 

“did you mean: you’re just _alright_?” kenma deadpans. it’s so easy to slip into banter with kuroo. 

“you wound me, kitten.” kuroo rearranges his features in a display of faux-distress. it’s especially unconvincing because he looks nothing like he did when he came to kenma’s door earlier that night, and kenma is thankful for this. 

his eyes scrunch up as he yawns, and he blinks to clean his vision. “man. I am tired.” 

“do you want to go to sleep?” kenma offers. he doesn’t mind if kuroo stays. his bed is smaller, but they haven’t been taking up much more space than a single person would anyway. 

kuroo seems taken aback by the offer, which kenma is a little offended by. kuroo didn’t really think kenma was going to make him go _back,_ did he?

“uh, yeah. thanks.” kuroo sits up and runs a hand down his face. “do you have an extra toothbrush i could borrow? and can I use your shower? I’d like to get this out of my hair.” 

he gestures at the half up, half down gelled monstrosity. kenma huffs in amusement. “i can see why. wait here.”

they probably have an extra toothbrush? kenma looks through the under-sink cabinet and finds a pink plastic one from his last dentist visit, then grabs an extra towel from the linen cupboard. 

he returns to the room and presents these to kuroo, who takes them, smiling his thanks. it occurs to kenma that kuroo has nothing to change into, and any shirt of his would be a crop top on kuroo. he stares at kuroo, feeling a bit awkward. 

“i don’t have clothes you’d fit in. your shirt isn’t washed yet.”

kuroo shrugs. “i’m fine in boxers, if you don’t mind?”

kenma shakes his head. he’ll still be going to sleep in a shirt, so he thinks they’ll be alright. it shouldn’t be that much different, right?

kuroo heads to the bathroom, and when he emerges again, he’s in his underwear, towel slung over his head, clothes bundled up in his arms. he sets them on the floor in the corner of kenma’s room. 

“all yours,” he tells kenma, who’s laying on the bed on his phone. 

“I was ready for bed before you texted me,” kenma says. he had been planning on going to sleep early. he had hoped his body was used enough to getting proper sleep on fridays it would cooperate, even though he was in his own bed. 

“sorry.” kuroo seems like he’s about to do something stupid like apologize for asking to come over, but that’s not what kenma wants. 

“no. I’m glad you came.” kenma tells him, and yawns. he’s tired now as well. “will your parents be okay with you staying over?”

“I don’t care.” kuroo says shortly. “they have no say over how i choose to spend my time.”

“okay,” kenma responds. kuroo is technically an adult, he supposes. “turn off the lights?”

kuroo searches for the switch for a second before locating it by the door. he dries off his hair, drapes the towel over the back of kenma’s door to dry, then flicks off the lights. 

unused to the layout of the room, he curses when he runs into the bed a step sooner than he expected, and then lays down next to kenma. 

“hey,” he murmurs.

kenma makes a questioning noise, already feeling too sleepy to form words. 

“thank you. really.” 

humming his acknowledgment, kenma nuzzles into kuroo. he smells like kenma’s soap, which is a little disorienting, but not _bad._ it doesn’t take long before kenma falls asleep, kuroo holding him tightly.

——

kenma wakes up enveloped by kuroo’s arms, one over his shoulders, the other pillowed under his head. his body is flush against kuroo’s chest, and kuroo’s chin is brushing the top of kenma’s head.

everywhere he can feel heat radiating off kuroo’s bare skin through the well worn fabric of his old t-shirt. the back of kenma’s shirt rode up in the night, making it so a thin strip of his lower his back is pressed directly against kuroo’s stomach, and the direct skin contact burns even hotter. 

there’s something wound tight in his chest like he has to yawn, except he’s not sure what it’s building towards. his heart feels like it’s beating a mile a minute. 

kenma’s entire body is so tense part of him wonders if it would be better to duck out of the embrace and go hide in the bathroom to collect himself for a second. he doesn’t know why he’s like this—he fell asleep next to kuroo before without a problem. he’s fallen asleep _under_ kuroo. but before, kuroo had a shirt on. and now he’s in kenma’s bed. shirtless. 

kenma checks the time. 5:32am.

with the intent to forcibly relax himself and fall back asleep, kenma shifts so he’s facing into kuroo, then realizes he doesn’t know what to do with his arms. before they were trailing out in front of him, but now they’re pressed against kuroo’s bare chest. 

in the process of moving he’s managed to disturb kuroo, who sleepily hums and drags kenma closer. he nuzzles kenma’s head, then seems to fall back asleep. 

now somewhat stuck where he is, kenma keeps his lower arm folded against himself and tentatively places the top one around kuroo. he tries to calm down, but it’s hard to do that with the skin of kuroo’s back smooth and hot under his hand.

kuroo’s spine dips beneath his fingers. he wants to map the way it curves, tracing the arcs of muscle that bunch on either side of it. 

_deep breaths,_ he reminds himself. 

a few deep breaths later, he not only not relaxed but also overheating. sweat trickles down the side of his face. he can’t do this anymore.

he squirms out of kuroo’s grasp and flees to the bathroom. splashes some water on his face and rinses out his mouth. pulling part of his hair up in a bun to keep it out of his face, he studies his reflection in the mirror. his eyes are glassy.

when he gets back to his room, kuroo is looking at him blearily from the bed, hair soft and rumpled, sheet marks indenting his torso. overall, ridiculous, but kenma’s heart skips a beat at the intimacy of kuroo this unguarded in kenma’s space. 

“where’d you go?” kuroo slurs out, not awake enough to properly enunciate. 

“bathroom,” kenma tells him.

“what time’s it?” 

“around 5:30.”

kuroo makes a noise of disgust. “c’mere.” 

he reaches out with grabby arms towards kenma.

kenma heads back to bed obligingly. when he’s close to the edge, kuroo surges up to grab him and rolls so kenma is flipped over onto the other side of the mattress.

“so _little_.” he chortles delightedly and mashes his face into kenma’s hair. 

“if you get in the habit of manhandling me i’ll kill you,” kenma tells him with full sincerity. the effect is probably lost because kuroo’s bicep is covering his mouth, muffling his voice. he’ll have to train kuroo out of this if he’s keeping him. 

wait. 

he wants to keep kuroo? 

but kuroo is going to university soon. he’s going to leave, as they discussed the night before. they _really_ need to talk. someone has to say something. but it’s not going to be kenma—he only just calmed himself down. 

one of kenma’s arms is folded uncomfortably. he shifts so it isn’t wedged under his body, and kuroo moves to accommodate him. he’s half on top of kuroo now, one of kuroo’s thighs between his legs, his head resting near the right side kuroo’s chest. their heartbeat are syncopated, both beating fast. 

if he doesn’t think about his feelings or how kuroo is almost naked, everything is fine.

kuroo has one hand rubbing circles on the small of kenma’s back. he moves the other hand up to card through the fine hair at the the nape of kenma’s neck, lightly dragging his nails along kenma’s scalp. it feels _very_ nice, in a slightly shivery way. kenma imagines if he were a cat he’d be purring right now, because kuroo is more or less petting him. 

he lets out a little breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, shoulders relaxing. even his heart rate slows down under kuroo’s soothing ministrations. 

he’s warm and drowsy and held, and he drifts into a half-conscious state. he can feel kuroo’s hand in his hair, but moving or speaking are far away. 

thought he doesn’t remember falling asleep, he finds himself waking up to the sunlight falling through his window at a different angle.

kenma tilts his head up from where it’s pressed against the side of kuroo’s chest, and kuroo’s eyes flutter open. “hey you.” 

“hi,” kenma’s voice is hoarse from sleep. he clears his throat. 

“here,” kuroo grabs kenma and pulls him up, adjusting him so he’s no longer laying on the crook of kuroo’s right arm. “sorry, my arm is asleep.” 

but now their faces are only inches apart. kenma feels his breath hitch, and he stares down at kuroo, paralyzed by the sheer closeness. and kuroo stares back, seemingly just as entranced. his hands are still holding kenma.

neither of them blink. 

_fuck_ , kuroo thinks. _i can’t do this any longer._

he inhales shakily, then speaks, voice as feeling-filled as a prayer. "i’m gonna do something, and if you don’t like it, it never happened.” 

kenma has never been so still in his entire life. he feels like he has electricity in his veins instead of blood. 

kuroo leans forward and presses his mouth softly against kenma’s for a second, then pulls away.

maybe kenma should be surprised. but what he feels most strongly is relief, hitting him like a lightning bolt. the tension and yearning has been building for _weeks_. this kiss is the thunderstorm that breaks the heat wave. _this_ is what he wanted.

_he wants kuroo_. he wants kuroo to want him just as desperately. he wants them to be each other’s, to have and to hold. and searching for how to get here had been stringing out his anxiety and body and mind, but now that he’s here— _well_. 

kenma blinks, long and slow and satisfied.

kuroo is starting to tense up under him, presumably from kenma’s lack of response.

_oh_. kenma thinks. _my move._

he reaches up to cup kuroo’s face with one hand. kenma can feel kuroo’s heart below him beating hard and fast in his chest, and his throat bobs as he swallows nervously. 

their faces are so close that it’s hard to know where to look.

kenma’s eyes flicker down, and he closes the distance between them, brushing their lips together in a closed-mouth kiss.

he pulls back, but keeps his hand there possessively. he doesn't think he's ever wanted anything in the way he's wanted this, and now he has it. kuroo is _his_.

kuroo appears to be short circuiting. his expression is frozen on the border of hope and disbelief. 

"we should brush our teeth," kenma breathes out. "and then we can try this again."

he takes his hand back and sits up, heading out of the room to do exactly what he suggested. as much as he would like to try kissing kuroo more, his mouth feels gross. 

kenma is lightheaded, though that might be because he'd just stood up after laying down for so long. entering his bathroom, he starts to brush his teeth on autopilot. part of him still feels like he’s dreaming.

kuroo lays on the bed for another moment before he comes back to himself, and then scrambles up to join kenma in the bathroom. standing as close to him as physically possible, he meets kenma’s gaze in the mirror.

“i like you! romantically. in case that wasn’t clear.” he blurts out. “that wasn’t—that—I’ve wanted this for so _long_.”

kenma spits out his toothpaste. “I know.” 

he rinses his mouth with water, then hands kuroo the toothbrush he had used the night before. kenma’s cheeks ache from keeping his involuntary smile small.

“and I like you too.” kenma confesses, and heat lances through his body at finally voicing this. 

he loses his grip on his smile and kuroo stares at him in wonder, toothbrush utterly forgotten. a matching incandescent grin spreads across kuroo’s face.

kenma nudges his side. “now brush your teeth so we can do something about it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aannnnnd they kiss for a bit and kuroo wants to scream into a pillow bc he's so happy but he squeezes kenma tightly instead and then they actually fall back asleep because they only slept for like 5 hours. and then kenma’s mom calls kenma for breakfast and kenma has to introduce his 6’2” hot “friend” she’s never seen before who spent the night and comes downstairs in rumpled formalwear. she’s like … uh huh honey 
> 
> to be clear! kenma is asexual. he is romantically and sensually attracted to kuroo, but not sexually attracted. they will have to have a conversation about limits n boundaries in the future. not every ace person is the same—attitudes towards physical intimacy vary. if you wanna learn more go [ here](https://www.asexuality.org/?q=overview.html).


	7. epilogue

kuroo convinces kenma to get last minute brunch with bokuto. they arrive at the cafe before he does and set themselves up on one side of the booth, kuroo sliding in first so kenma doesn’t feel boxed in. 

when bokuto arrives five minutes later, settling opposite them, kuroo greets him with an “oya oya?” 

“oya oya oya?” bokuto responds in kind. 

kuroo smugly motions between kenma and himself.

bokuto gasps. "thank _fuck_! i thought i'd have to sit through another year of kuroo's pining."

the phrasing catches kenma's attention. why is he indicating this spanned a _much longer period of time_ than kenma had originally thought?

“i knew i could get him to fall for me eventually, i’m charming as fuck.” kuroo proclaims, gesturing at himself with the hand that isn’t around kenma. 

“the first thing you told me was that I’m ‘better than vomit’,” kenma points out from where he is nestled against kuroo’s side. “you’re not smooth."

“you threw a party because you didn’t how to talk to him.” bokuto tag teams.

kuroo’s expression shifts to comically dismayed. 

“I didn’t—that—that’s—it’s reductive to say it like that!” kuroo sputters. “and how do you remember that anyway kenma? you were basically asleep.”

kenma shrugs. “I want to hear more about you not being able to talk to me.”

“cruel!” moans kuroo. “it wasn’t like that.”

kenma just stares at him. “what was it like?”

kuroo mumbles something kenma can’t quite make out. bokuto is laughing on the other side of the table.

“didn’t catch that.” kenma drawls.

kuroo makes a noise of distress. kenma twines their fingers together. 

“I—you—you can be intimidating. because you didn’t seem like you particularly wanted to talk with anyone. and you always did your own thing. so. i may have thrown the party _in part_ ,” here he glares at bokuto, “because i hoped you might show up.” 

kenma huffs out a small laugh. “you overcomplicated that. I don’t know why i ever thought you were cool.”

“you thought i was cool??” kuroo perks up again. 

“…not since I talked to you.”

“and yet you liiike me.” kuroo smirks, drawing out the word and leaning his head on top of kenma’s. 

“you’re alright, i guess.” kenma tries to sound noncommittal, but his lips betray him, twitching towards a smile. he presses a quick kiss to the back of kuroo’s hand. 

bokuto fake gags. “never mind. you're going to be insufferable." 

kuroo sticks out his tongue at bokuto. “did akaashi teach you that word?”

“you must suffer the insufferable well, being friends with kuroo.” kenma mutters, eyes fixed on the table. 

“hey!” kuroo squawks indignantly, jabbing kenma with his elbow. bokuto just laughs. 

“oh, i like you,” he tells kenma. “you did good, kuroo.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bokuakakuroken friendship or bust!! in my mind this meanders towards poly in the future...... kenma is shy around bokuto rn bc he doesn't know him, but as long as kuroo is there as a buffer it's fine. and yes, akaashi did teach bokuto the word insufferable.
> 
> kuroo you poor pining dumbass. you threw a TARGETED PARTY? multiple targeted parties. that’s so goddamn gatsby of you. i tagged the fic as stealth gatsby au bc of this + the pseudo green light of kenma’s house + kuroo displays his many shirts for kenma in chapter 5 post panic attack...
> 
> thank you for reading <3 you can find me on [twt.](https://twitter.com/visceraIly)


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